


Laverick - Part 1

by FaerieChild



Series: Laverick [1]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-02-18 05:31:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 74,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13093419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaerieChild/pseuds/FaerieChild
Summary: Lallybroch Estate, Scotland. Claire Beauchamp works in the lowlands of Scotland in estate management. Jamie Fraser works as part of a team of Ghillies on the Lallybroch Estate in Inverness-shire. Sent north to examine the sporting estate on behalf of a potential international purchaser, Claire soon discovers that the local community has some rather different ideas about Lallybroch’s future.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an attempt to create an interesting modern AU while exploring the complex and emotive issues around land and natural capital in Scotland today. My knowledge of some of the issues concerned is ok in some places but in other places my knowledge is a bit rusty and I am trying to do the right research to fill in those gaps. I am also trying to be sensitive to the fact that for many people land rights effect their daily lives and are not just a plot point in a story. I probably won't get everything right, especially as the situation is often changing very quickly but I'm going to give it my best shot. Please be patient with me and feel free to get in touch, I love feedback and discussion.

Laverick

 

Chapter 1

 

_"The Scottish Parliament, adjourned on the 25th day of March in the year Seventeen Hundred And Seven, is hereby reconvened."_

\- Dr Winifred Ewing MSP, 12th May 1999. Edinburgh, Scotland.

 

Edinburgh

Claire Beauchamp stood in the top floor meeting room of one of Edinburgh's most prestigious law firms, looking out at the view over the West End of the City with its beautiful parks and the morning sunlight dancing through the clouds, catching the myriad hues of green and gold of the grass on Arthur's Seat a little way off. Closer, the dark looming presence of Castle Rock just across the way looked more foreboding and Claire wondered, not for the first time, about the history and heritage of that place. Long centuries of war, violence and struggle now distilled down to Scotland's most popular tourist destination. Behind Claire a door opened and a woman of about her own age entered. She was dressed smartly in a tailored black suit with an elegantly cut blouse underneath. Her bright red hair sat long, expertly dressed no doubt by one of the many high end hair salons in that part of town.

Claire turned around from the window and smiled politely as the lady came forwards.

“Geilis Duncan,” The lady offered a hand which Claire took. There was no male posturing in the handshake, it was a polite and courteous greeting, a nod and a smile before they both took their seats and Geilis lay a file down on the table. “'Tis good tae see ye, Claire.”

“Thank you. You too, of course, Geilis. How is your husband?”

Geilis gave Claire a conspiring look. “Still having trouble with his bowels.”

Claire was somewhat taken aback by this over-intimate revelation about her business acquaintance's spouse and cleared her throat, wondering if it was a deliberate attempt to put her off balance. “Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I hope there is better news about the estate?”

“I didn't call you here about that. We have a new client and I thought I might throw a bit of business your way. How would you feel about taking on a large international client?”

“Really? I can't deny it would be something of a challenge, but extremely valuable for us to be taking on another portfolio in the present climate. What's the estate?”

“Oh, he doesn't own an estate. Not yet. We have a new international client, extremely wealthy, who is interested in acquiring a Scottish Estate to add to his property portfolio.” Geilis Duncan opened her file and took out a single sheet of A4 paper which she slid towards Claire. Geilis paused as Claire's eyes skimmed over the sheet. “Our client has been quite clear, as you can imagine, that it must be an estate of some status. Not necessarily large in size but...”

“Old. Heritage. Prestige?” Claire guessed. “Another lowland castle with plenty of roe deer and barley?”

Geilis tilted her head in a gesture that was not exactly confirmation. “We'll come to that. The buyer already owns a key hotel in New York, several strategically placed apartment blocks in London and a Championship Football Club. As you well know, having a Scottish estate these days is seen by some as a sign of having made it. He was quite clear that he was looking for a property that would match the status of his other investments and, naturally, he would need someone to manage it for him. He would be interested in a yearly visit and would like the estate managed in the traditional manner. That's where you come in.”

“Quite,” Claire smiled politely and briefly made eye contact before letting her eyes settle once more on the page. Upon a second examination a name lept out at her. “Charles Stuart?”

“Claims his ancestors were Scottish, claims direct descent from You-Know-Who, claims he wants to reconnect with his roots,” Geilis's smile was polite, with a hint of cynicism.

Claire racked her mind for places at the high end of the property ladder that were – or would be – coming onto the market. “Is this potential business purely hypothetical or have you identified somewhere for him to purchase?”

“We had word this morning that the estate of Lallybroch in Inverness-shire is likely to come up for sale in the next few days. The estate has been in the hands of the current owners for about forty years but had a succession of owners in the mid-twentieth century after the war.” Geilis removed a second piece of paper and handed it to Claire. It was a brief outline, the size of the estate, the estimated asking price and the main business of the estate. Deer, grouse and a small community of crofting tenants. “My client is happy to bring you on board but what he would like from you – on our behalf – is a report on the current status of the estate and how you would run it.”

“Geilis, I've never worked in the Highlands.”

“Well, perhaps it's about time you started. And you're a quick learner. Lets get you north of the Highland Line, no?”

Claire opened her mouth wordlessly and slowly shook her head. On the one hand she was grateful for the work. On the other hand this wasn't exactly something she could bluff her way through with a quick visit to the library. “You want me to go and visit this place?”

“Paid, of course,” Geilis smiled. “A full, honest assessment of the state of the place. He asked in particular for someone to go and spend a couple of days there, get the personal experience of the place if you will, and a more honest assessment of how run down it all is and how much money the estate is likely to lose annually. In fact your lack of experience in the area might even be an advantage. Fresh eyes and all that.” Geilis folded her hands together primly.

Claire's brows drew together. “I'm not sure you need count on make a loss, necessarily.”

“Ocht, Claire! Everyone knows you don't buy a Highland estate to make a profit!” Geilis laughed out loud. “You buy it for the prestige of the thing. The client has accepted that the presence of crofting tenants is probably inevitable but if there is anything that can be done to move a few of them on he isn't opposed to ideas. I'm sure there might be a few corners here and there you could push for being decrofted, if you whispered in the right ears. Are ye interested?”

“Of course!” Claire exclaimed. She wasn't entirely sure what decrofting was, or in fact half of what Geilis had just said but she would be mad to turn down one of her best work friends throwing such a lucrative piece of business her way. It wasn't unusual for this sort of thing to be contracted out and a fortuitous meeting with Geilis at Napiers herbal remedy shop by the University of Edinburgh had turned into a business relationship that suited them both.

Claire worked at an estate management firm in Edinburgh looking after Scottish estates on behalf of their owners. It had started out for her as an admin job, the first employment she could find after making a new start in Scotland when her marriage broke down a few years ago. In truth Claire had always intended to go to university and study medicine but at nineteen she had married a man ten years her senior and somehow it had never happened. When Frank's infidelity came to light after only a few years, Claire moved herself up to Scotland as soon as the divorce had been finalised with the intention of making a fresh start and admin seemed the only thing she was qualified to do. Claire had spent her childhood looking after her Uncle Lamb's papers and then helping with her ex-husband Frank's academic work. On the back of that she had secured an adminstrative position that had somehow resulted in a promising career in estate management. It was many a morning that she woke up and wondered if some other Claire Beauchamp in another life was getting up and going to work to perform life saving surgery in an NHS hospital while she went and met clients at the tailors looking for a second opinion on which deerstalker to buy or the pros and cons of troos versus kilts.

It wasn't out of any particular love of Scotland that Claire had chosen this place, only that Frank had mentioned it once as somewhere his ancestors were from and, she had realised belatedly, Frank was one of those academics obsessed with studying a place he would almost never actually visit. Frank's life in Oxfordshire and his obsession with progressing in academia meant that Edinburgh, at several hundred miles distance, was a place where she was unlikely to ever bump in to her ex-husband or any of their common acquaintences ever again. But it was a career and an income and Claire supposed there were worse things she could be doing. As the meeting drew to a close, Geilis and Claire rose from their seats and shook on the promise that Claire would take a trip north to make her assessment of the place as soon as possible.

As she rode in the sterile lift back down to the ground floor, Claire reminded herself to look up the weather forecast.

~

Three hundred miles north, Jamie Fraser adjusted the sgian dhu in his kilt sock and glanced at himself in the mirror one last time. Born and raised on the estate of Lallybroch, he knew the place inside out. He had worked there all through school. As soon as he was old enough to help he was out beating grouse for the shooting visitors at weekends and school holidays but with few job prospects locally at the time he had signed up for the Scottish Infantry straight out of school. Two years of his life that would change him forever. Two tours with the Highlanders and Jamie returned a different man. Gone was the mischievous young man who couldn't sit still in school and was up to no good. The man who returned was distant and deeply introspective. He spent long hours wandering the hills, knew them now like the back of his hand.

Jamie's father Brian Fraser had thought that if Jamie liked being out there so much he might as well learn about it properly and the Scottish Parliament having introduced free higher education allowed the Fraser family to support Jamie in going to the Scottish Agricultural College in Edinburgh. His education, along with his intimate knowledge of the estate had gotten him noticed by the outgoing Ghillie and Jamie's uncle, Colum Mackenzie. Colum, in ill-health had been looking for a new gamekeeper to fill in for his brother, Dougal Mackenzie, who was imminently due to be succeed his elder brother as Head Ghillie. Growing up within an easy drive of Lallybroch, Jamie knew that there was no love lost between his father and his mother's brothers. But the Mackenzies liked to keep things in the family and Jamie fitted the bill. He graduated from Agricultural College straight into work on The Lallybroch Estate. On his first full day's work it had been impressed upon him by his father how lucky he was to find such a good job in the local community, reminded of his family's long standing connection to the land and to do as he was instructed by his employer.

Not every man who worked on the estate, could claim to be the hereditary heir of the last true Laird of Lallybroch.

Not even Dougal Mackenzie.

The squeeze of Brian Fraser's hand on his son's shoulder, the stern look in his eye as he said those words still stuck in Jamie's mind every time he laid another trap for the mountain hares on the hill, or the pine martins in the forest, or the harriers out on the muir. Each layed and checked and emptied with a heavy heart. Looking at himself in the mirror now, Jamie considered that his uniform, at least, he could take some pride in.

A Ghillie, after all, had to dress the part.

And so it had come to pass that Jamie had not long since been appointed as the youngest deputy-Ghillie that Lallybroch had ever known. Working directly under Dougal, Jamie was Dougal's right hand man. Every morning now he took out his kilt with pride, brushed the dust off his Argyll jacket and checked the shoes – or boots – he had polished the night before. The silver of his belt buckle and kilt pin were polished, the mud cleaned from his clothes every night. The hunting rifles were checked and locked away, the ammunition secured, the night checks done in accordance with Dougal's strict instructions.

In the morning, every morning, he could get up with pride and put on his bright Fraser tartan, if he wanted to scare every deer for a hundred miles. Or, if it was a stalking day, like this, he would wear his grandmother's Mackenzie Hunting tartan, which was much better for blending into the heather so they didn't see you.

Even his hair delighted him. He laughed at the way the women got jealous of his long, thick, russet locks, the way they curled when it rained or whipped around in the wind like a shampoo advert. It felt much more comfortable than his old, short, military cut and Janet told him he looked like a proper wild highlander of old.

That gave him pause, and made him smile. He had even once indulged himself by buying a big kilt and a ghillie shirt but it was stuffed in the back of his wardrobe now, Jamie thinking himself daft for the thought. What was next? Broadswords and reeneactments? He shook his head at his own sillyness. There was a way of life on the estate, had been for generations and it was all rather small-c conservative. Staying the same, going to church on Sundays. Social norms rooted in traditions and 'the way things were done'. But even if his family were tenents now instead of land owners in their own right; even if Jamie himself might wish for a bit more progressive thinking in these parts he knew that this place was his home.

That morning as usual, he put on his metaphorical military hat and checked his work uniform was satisfactory. Item by item he glanced over his shirt, waistcoat, jacket, kilt, pin, belt, shoes, socks, sgian dhu and sporran. When he was satisfied Jamie let himself out of his cottage, not bothering to lock the door – few people did in these parts – and made his way down the short, informal drive to his Land Rover. He climbed in and made his way along a bumpy, single track road into town. Everyone who saw him waved, or nodded hello and Jamie parked on the street near the solitary shop-slash-post-office to buy the morning paper and a pint of milk for the fridge in the office. Behind the counter, Laoghaire Mackenzie smiled and tilted her head coquettishly as he handed over a few coins and waited for change. Back in the car he dumped the paper unread on the passenger seat and headed west out of town towards a collection of sparsely scattered crofts. A short, dark-haired woman appeared from one holding a baby on her hip and tried to wave at Jamie who failed to see either his sister or the anxious expression on her face as she watched her brother looping around back towards the Big House to begin his day's work. Jamie drove up the tarmac road that broke up into a gravel drive and parked round the back near the stables where his favourite highland pony, Trom, was happily digging into his morning oats. With the unread newspaper tucked under his arm, Jamie gave Trom's black nose a rub and checked in with the stable lad before making his way into the main offices, an ugly twentieth century annex to the big house that legend had it was built as officers quarters for military training during The War.

Standing outside his office was the Housekeeper, who kept house in the one week in the summer when the owner was here and the rest of the time kept the holiday homes for the tourists and cooked the lunches for the rest of the staff.

“Mrs Fitz,” Jamie nodded at her in greeting as he made his way into the office to quickly check his messages before heading out. He was expecting a busy day and would need to get round the traps as well as find time to check on the deer's movement at this time of year. He glanced up at the older woman noticing the worried, fretful look on her face.

“Jamie!” Mrs Fitz attempted to block his way into his office but he deftly moved around her with a polite smile and opened his door. Not to be put off, Mrs Fitz followed hot on his heels. “Now, Jamie, you'll be telling us if it's true!”

Jamie moved around behind his desk and glanced over its content. The mail had yet to arrive, would not for hours yet but there was a pile of papers for his attention and a collection of post it notes on the screen of his computer asking him to complete the paperwork on Dougal's behalf. “Mrs Fitz, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, as surely ye know.”

“But you're deputy-Ghillie, Jamie! Dougal’s second!”

“I take it he's not here yet?” Jamie said, looking up from where he was fingering through the paperwork. He paused at seeing the frantic look on her face. “Mrs Fitz, as I've said all along, Himself'd tell us first, Aye? Last I heard it was all hypothetical anyway. He isnae the type to go-” Jamie shook out the newspaper from under his arm and stopped. His whole body froze, staring at the front page of the latest edition of the Highland Herald.

“Lallybroch Estate Up For Sale.”

Slowly his arms lowered as he laid the newspaper down on his desk. Between them, they stared at it.

Jamie raised his eyes from the paper to find Mrs Fitz staring at him, hands on hips, an 'I told you so' expression on her face.

Mrs Fitz cleared her throat. “Isnae the type, ye were saying?” Mrs Fitz raise her eyebrows and nodded at the page.

Jamie's nose flared, his teeth ground, he squeezed his fists so tight his knuckles turned white and then turned around and stormed out.

Alone in the room, Mrs Fitz wrung her hands anxiously and turned to pop the kettle on.

* * *

 Music rec: Here Is Where The Heart Is by Wolfstone from Wolfstone Unleashed https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=c0iqAEVAMRo

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your feedback and support for chapter 1. I do feel like I might be biting off more than can be chewed with this story, but I figure it is worth a go. Please feel free to leave a comment.

“The feudal system of land tenure, that is to say the entire system whereby land is held by a vassal on perpetual tenure from a superior is, on the appointed day, abolished.”

\- s1 Abolition of Feudal Land Tenure etc. (Scotland) Act 2000

~

Chapter 2

Somewhere in the Scottish Highlands...

_“The decision by the owner of Lallybroch Estate to put the property up for sale has reignited debate over Scottish sporting estates, with several conservation charities using the sale to highlight what they are calling the decimation of Scottish native wildlife for the sake of a game monoculture. While encouraged by the government's attempts to reduce red deer numbers, they are calling on the Scottish Parliament to look again at the way environmental legislation designates protected species. But an organisation representing sporting estates has hit back, insisting that deer number have been significantly reduced in recent years and that they only cull the native animals necessary for the purposes of good land management, as well as highlighting the millions of pounds they say sporting estates bring into the Scottish Economy every year. Meanwhile a Conservative MSP who was formerly employed on a grouse shooting estate has commented...”_

Claire Beauchamp switched off the radio and pulled into the side of the road. Had that last junction been her turn? Or was it still up ahead? With a sigh she looked around and realised she was lost.

Admittedly, there were elements of her plan that she should have thought about twice, like assuming she would have a phone signal, or not looking up the map coordinates ahead of time. Or average speed cameras. Half an hour ago she had left the A9, quite sure she knew where she was going only to end up in a confusion of badly signposted junctions surrounded by hills that all looked the same. Now she was stuck on the roadside with an Ordnance Survey map laid out on the passenger seat trying to work out where the access road for the Lallybroch estate was. Without any major landmarks in the barren landscape there was little to go on and so Claire folded up the map and decided to drive on. Hopefully she would come to a signpost or a house of some sort and she could ask for directions. Now feeling some urgency about getting to her destination before dark, Claire started out on the single track b-road again a little faster than before, following a series of turns in the road before coming round a bend a little too fast to see a horse and rider right in the middle of the road. Automatically her right foot hit the brake and Claire's arms braced on the steering wheel as the rider's horse reared up and he tried to swerve the beast out of the way. The horse and car missed each other by a matter of inches. The rider wasn't so lucky and lost his seat, sliding down to the ground with one foot still tangled in a stirrup as Claire's car screeched to a halt.

Claire threw herself out of the car, “I'm so sorry!”

If only she had gone to Medical School, Claire mused that her training would come in handy about now. As it was her workplace First Aid certificate would have to do. She did her best to take in the scene and rushed over to see if he was hurt. The rider was a man, wearing a kilt and and a jacket with boots. The pony stood whinnying, its eyes were wide and showing the white and it's ears flickered nervously. The rider tugged at his foot and the horse moved its hooves skittishly, dragging it's poor rider across the ground a few yards.

Claire looked down at the man with her heart in her mouth. Her first impression was that he was almost certainly hurt, lying there on his back and wincing with an expression of pain on his face. His hand was clutching one shoulder, which must have taken the brunt of the landing. He was wearing neither a helmet nor a florescent vest, only a woolen kilt and a ghillie shirt and the air of wild highlander was exacerbated by the head of red hair that leapt out from his head and curled about his face.

“I'll thank ye kindly to watch your speed!” The man snapped.

Claire stared, almost in shock, wishing she knew what to do. No, that was stupid, they did drills for this stuff at work. Assess the injuries. Call the emergency services. Not to mention exchanging details. “Are you hurt? Shall I call an ambulance?”

The man's lips pressed together so hard they turned white. “No, thank you. If I can just..” He tugged at his foot again but it wouldn't come out. Claire, seeing his predicament immediately came round behind the horse which elicited a panicked 'No!' from the man on the ground. “What, are ye daft, ye Sassenach? Ye dinnae walk behind a spooked horse! Christ on a bike, are ye trying to get us both killed? Aye, all I need now is some Outlander getting a hoof tae the heid and my day is complete.”

A muttered Gaelic curse escaped his lips. Claire stood rebuked and forced herself to stay silent before her anger got the better of her, Anger partly at her own stupidity. She had spent a little time with horses during her upbringing with Uncle Lamb at one or two of his remote archaeological sites. She was by no means an expert but she knew well enough to stay away from the hooves. Claire paused for a moment, her mind so harried and fraught, she realised, that she had forgotten all sense. The whole event had thrown her mentally as far as the horse had thrown its rider. She had no idea there would be horses around here, or she would never have driven so fast. Why wasn't there a warning sign up?

“For your information, Sir, I was only trying to help!”

Jamie let out a humming noise and a snort at that version of events, but nevertheless in his precarious position with his kilt riding up his leg and an horrifically painful shoulder he found himself in no position to turn down a hand, even a clueless one. “Just...grab his bridle, there. Aye?” Once that was done Trom stood still long enough for Jamie to get his foot out and the lassie had the sense to go and loop the reins around the lonely stump of a remnant fence post nearby.

Claire stood by the horse, petting it for a moment and using the excuse of the horse's presence to take a deep breath and gather herself. There appeared to be no harm done to the horse but the rider was injured and he needed her help. Pulling herself together, Claire walked back over to the rider who was now laid out on his back, both feet on the ground with one hand clutching the shoulder where he had taken the fall. His eyes fell on her as Claire approached and she saw his form still, his eyes sharpen a little and the man made an attempt to sit up, which he clearly instantly regretted judging by the expression of pain that spiked across his face. Claire rushed over to his side and gently helped him sit up.

Up close his red hair smelled of wet rain and the weathered freckles on his face were so thick they appeared almost like a tan. A good woolen tweed jacket had fallen loose and was now mired in dirt nearby and his kilt and shirt were now crumpled and muddy. Judging by his attire he was either an employee of – or a visitor to – an estate and Claire wasn't sure which was the worse answer, that she might have run down someone important or that she could have injured an employee and put them out of work for a time, to the inconvenience of both employer and employee. But he was also handsome and the way his eyes took her in made her suddenly aware of his presence. As she watched his kilt ride up a muscular thigh it struck her all of a sudden just how long it had been since she had been in close proximity with a man for anything other than a business meeting. The divorce had been a sting worse than Claire liked to admit and the fact that it was Frank's infidelity that caused the relationship breakdown didn't exactly help matters either. This man, whoever he was, was strong and calm, muscular and stoic and the flicker of attraction in her belly was difficult to deny.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Jamie.”

Claire lifted her right hand and held up three fingers in front of his eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“On which hand?” Jamie asked curiously.

It took Claire a moment to realise he was pulling her leg and at her infuriated sigh he only smirked and laughed. “That'll be three, Sassenach.” To his amusement, the woman started poking her fingers around his hair.

“Do you think you hit your head? Do you feel confused or tired?”

“I've no got a concussion,” Jamie insisted.

“Alright, smart arse. Is there anywhere else that hurts?”

“Just my shoulder.” Now the initial flare of anger had gone he sat quietly as he watched her make her assessment, judging that she seemed to know what she was doing. Actually, it was rather nice in its own way. Her warm, confident fingers working their way over his sensitive scalp.

Claire could hear the sound of his breathing deepen, feel the warmth of his skin under her hands as she checked him over. She gave his head one last glance and then moved onto his shoulder. One or two gentle touches quickly elicted a sharp gasp. Claire stopped and looked him in the eye, finding herself caught in his gaze.

“Well, Doctor?” Jamie asked at length.

He was watching her again in a way that made Claire feel somewhat self-conscious.

“Well, I'm not a Doctor but I am a certified first aider and I'm fairly sure you've dislocated it.”

A few dampened curls fell over the man's forehead. “Aye, it's guy painful right enough. Certified first aider ye say?”

“I did it through work,” Claire responded absently. “We should get you to the hospital, you're not even wearing a helmet, what is wrong with you?”

“And yet, I live.”

“I'm serious, you could have broken your neck, or cracked your head on a rock!”

“Once again, I dinnae have a concussion. Now about this shoulder, do you ken how to pop it back? What with you being a trained first aider and all. It's rather painful, ye see.”

“Well in theory I could but I've never actually done it. You really should get seen by a Doctor, you know.”

“Aye, and give the other mountain rescue lads a right laugh. Throw in an airlift to Raigmore and I'd never live it down. Nah. Best get it over with, lass.”

Claire looked around in the vague hope of sighting someone else approach who could be of assistance. Apparently Jamie here, thought that was worth a laugh at her expense. “Sassenach, there's nobody out here for miles. ”

Claire found her eyes drawn back to Jamie, his clear blue eyes staring up at her expectantly.

A few minutes later, shoulder reset, Claire frowned at Jamie's expression of slightly begrudging pain elicited by her manhandling.

He moved his shoulder gingerly, “Thank ye, Sassenach. I think.”

“It will still be sore for a few days. You should put it in a sling if you can, rest it and for goodness sake, go and see a Doctor!”

Jamie cut her off, anticipating her words. “Rest. Sling. Doctor. Got it. And what about you?”

“Sorry?” Claire blinked. “What about me?”

“I must have given ye quite a shock.”

“No, no I'm...fine.” Claire looked around. Her mind was racing, trying to focus on what she was there for.

“No, I don't think you are. I'm sorry if I was sharp with you before. I've had a bad day, ye might say.” Having ridden off in haste, Jamie had gone straight to the stables to saddle his horse without even picking up his riding vest and helmet. With half his head on the troubles of the Landlord, Jamie had done his turn of the rounds tending the traps, taking out the dead vermin and resetting them fresh. Still, his head had been in the clouds when he had finished his task and looped back round along the main road on his way back to the Big House only to literally run into a stranger on the road. “It's only a few miles back across the moor. Leave the car on the verge and I'll take ye on Trom. We can get you a nice cup of sweet tea, aye?”

Claire watched Jamie unloop the highland pony's reins and soothe him with whispered Gaelic words and a steady hand his strong neck. “You can't be serious?”

“Sassenach, you're in no fit state to drive.”

“I think I'll be my own judge of that.”

Claire did. Jamie was right, her hand was shaking. Shock was starting to set in, she realised. A large, warm hand came up and clasped hers.

“Are ye in such a hurry, Sassenach?”

“I have to get to my hotel. I have a meeting tomorrow,” Claire muttered, wondering what time it was.

“We've a landline, you can make a phone call and come back to retrieve your car.”

Claire stopped to take stock of herself and agreed that he actually might be right. Now that the immediacy of the encounter was passing Claire could acknowledge that she was starting to feel a bit shaken and this man, Jamie, was beginning to look concerned. Not to mention the fact that she was now rather cold. It was all very well sitting in the car with the heating on at full blast but even in summer it was rarely balmy up here. But Jamie's face was kind, his voice was soft and in spite of his imposing figure everything about him made Claire feel safe and looked after.

“Is it too much to hope you at least own a jacket?” Jamie quipped.

Claire fingered her car keys. She felt Jamie's hand take them as he slid the pony's reins into her hand in their place. “The boot,” Claire told him.

Jamie had to admit he was more impressed than he expected to be at the sight of a boot full of cold weather gear and a sensible assemblage of rural driving essentials and considered he might have misjudged the woman. He came back with a cardigan, a waxed jacket and a warm lambswool blanket scooped under his good arm. Claire put on the clothes while Jamie parked her car up on the verge and then urged her up on his horse. Jamie swung himself up behind her and wrapped the blanket around them and, without needing a nudge, Trom happily turned his head home and began the short trek back to Lallybroch.

 

* * *

 

Music rec: Going Home by Runrig from the album The Highland Connection https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=aLaZjAZDFwU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s1 Abolition of Feudal Land Tenure etc. (Scotland) Act 2000 quoted from legislation.gov.uk (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/asp/2000/5/contents). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did proof read this but due to the necessity of some last minute changes it hasn't been read as thoroughly as previous chapters. Apologies for any mistakes.

 

_“In legal terms, wild deer belong to no-one and can only be shot by those who own or manage the land or with their permission. The right to shoot deer cannot be separated from ownership of the land. Deer management is carried out on a voluntary basis._

_There are significant differences in how deer are managed in the uplands and lowlands of Scotland. These variations are a result of differences in the ranges of the different species, different behaviours of red and roe deer, differences in the pattern of land ownership, the levels of woodland cover, differences in land quality, history and culture, and issues in the peri-urban/urban environment._ ”

 

p20 Report on Deer management in Scotland, Report to the Scottish Government from Scottish Natural Heritage 2016; Environment, Climate Change and Land Reform Committee of the Scottish Parliament (see endnote)

 

~

 

Chapter 3

 

At first Claire wanted to protest at the presumptuous smothering, but she couldn't deny the blanket was warm and whether it was the warmth or the safety of this stranger's presence or the rocking motion of the horse, Claire found herself drifting off into a sleepy daydream. In her warm cocoon, surrounded by the smell of wool and moor and horse, Claire gazed out over the land, her eyes absent-mindedly noting the shooting butts, the burnt patches of heather and the tiny dots of a herd of distant deer. A well stocked shooting estate, appropriate land management, though whether she had made it onto Lallybroch lands yet was difficult to surmise. “Where are we going?”

“Broch Tuarach.”

Claire wondered if she was mad to be going out across a moor with a stranger and no phone signal. In truth, although Estate Management was her line of work it mostly involved offices and reports, with the occasional site visit to check on things. She didn't actually usually spend much time at the sharp end of things. She looked out for birds of prey, mountain hare and signs of forestry and seeing none she knew that there must be a good level of species control on the land, whose ever it was. Plenty of predation control was necessary to allow the game to thrive. Claire might not know so much about shooting estates, but she knew that.

Jamie led them up and over the moor and down the next hill, past a small crofthouse – a modest single storey house with two windows either side of the front door. The walls were whitewashed, the roof a dark purple slate and the front door a bright orange-red. She noted the repair work needing done to the roan pipes, the masonry and the windows and wondered how much damp it got in winter.

Down the hill they came and over a rise until the deer track they were following came down onto a bend in the road and a large house appeared, surrounded by trees with a ruined stone broch standing nearby. Claire recognised it at once from the picture.

“But...this is Lallybroch!”

“Aye, it's also known by that name.”

Claire's mind whirled. Well, this wasn't how she imagined arriving.

 

As soon as they arrived into the yard it was clear that Jamie was well known in this place. An older woman, somewhat plump with a concerned expression on her face trotted out to greet them and a stable lad grasped the bridle as Jamie dismounted from Trom.

“Jamie! What have I told you about riding without a helmet!”

“Mrs Fitz,” Jamie nodded at her in acknowledgement.

“And just who is this?”

“This is...” Jamie looked at Claire awkwardly.

“Claire Beauchamp,” Claire introduced herself.

Mrs Fitz stared at Jamie, hands on hips, at his lack of manners. For what it was worth Claire thought she saw him blush a little.

“I'm afraid the Sassenach and I here had a bit of an encounter on the road. I'd be obliged if you'd find her a cup of tea, Fitz, and something to eat.”

“Of course!” Mrs Fitz rushed forwards, her long tartan skirt gathered in one hand as she reached out to usher Claire into the house. “Oh, you poor dear, come into the house and we'll get you some tea.”

Claire found herself ushered away from Jamie and she found herself wondering who he was. She had been led to believe that the Landlord of Lallybroch spent most of his time out of the country.

Did he work here? But that didn't make sense. Jamie had an air of stature, of responsibility. Still confused, Claire did her best to take in her surroundings. The house itself was grand and ancient. Somewhat more modest than the houses of some other Scottish estates, it was true, but her client had specified quality over quantity. He wanted something that had heritage and prestige and this estate had a direct line of provenance leading back to Clan Fraser in the eighteenth century. A bit of Jacobite history often added a touch of romantic esteem that added value to a property. Better yet, Claire could see original features, oak panelling and in situ paintings along with furnishings that looked like they had never been moved. Through the main hallway, Claire found herself ushered along through into the kitchen into what was obviously a staff room, painted in an awful shade of magnolia and smelling of cabbage with an odd assortment of well-worn nineteen fifties chairs and a two-bar electric heater in the fireplace. She wanted to tell them that all this fuss wasn't necessary but apparently there was no telling them.

Mrs Fitz sat her down, brooking no opposition until Claire had a cup of sweet tea and toasted teacake in hand. “Get that down you, lass,” Mrs Fitz insisted, pouring a cup for herself while she was there. For a few minutes all was quiet and calm and the tea and food helped settle her. As Mrs Fitz she opened the interrogation. “Will you be visiting, then?”

“Uh...yes, actually. I'm on a business trip for a few days. I don't suppose I could borrow your phone?”

At that moment, the quiet of the staff room was interrupted by the loud sound of a cohort of estate staff trampling through the kitchen, jostling and joking with each other. Boots and wellies trailed in one after the other trailing mud on the floor much to Mrs Fitz's dismay. “What have I told you lot about mud on the floor!”

The collection of men all stopped and stared at Mrs Fitz and then at Claire. They were all of them dressed in similar kilts to Jamie with tweed waistcoats and jackets. One man in particular stepped forwards, a middle aged man though lean and fit she could tell with a broad chest and slim waist. Claire guessed that he was used to doing physical work around the estates and he had the air of confidence of a man who knew his business. Whoever he was, the man's presence and his sharp hawk-eyes immediately put her on edge. She knew the sort very well and in her experience there was a select group of commanding older men in these trades who were less than inclined to allow women to tread on their toes.

“Hello, lass,” He stepped forwards. “What have we here?”

“Now I'll have none of that, Dougal Mackenzie,” Mrs Fitz bustled forwards, “Jamie found her out on the road. Now let her alone.”

“Found her, was it? Or picked her up?”

Mrs Fitz tutted at Dougal's choice of words and hustled towards Claire. “Claire, lass. Would you like to use the telephone?”

The excuse to get out of the presence of this man was too good to pass up and with the eyes of the other estates workers on her, Claire stood up and this time welcomed Mrs Fitz at her elbow, ushering her away from the men. “You'll have to excuse them, it's been a long day and with the estate being put up for sale...” Mrs Fitz made a half-apologetic shrug, “They're suspicious of strangers, ye ken?”

“O-of course,” Claire glanced over her shoulder, finding three pairs of eyes watching her being led back through the kitchen to an annex out the back that looked like it was built in the war. It had that haphazard, cold damp feel about it and the distinctive nineteen forties windows.

“Jamie said to let you use the phone in his office,” Mrs Fitz explained.

“He works here, then?”

Mrs Fitz's eyes showed surprise. “Oh, aye! Jamie's the Deputy-Ghillie, ye ken!” Then with a nod and a smile she left the telephone up to Claire and hustled back to the kitchen, berating her charges for the noise and the mud and taking orders for tea and scones.

Claire took a moment to take stock and look around. Everything was here. Maps on the walls. Lists of vermin species, a European regulation pinned here, a Scottish Government policy document there. Notes about upcoming bookings and a discarded newspaper from a few days before with the distinctive headline. 'Lallybroch Estate Up For Sale', it read.

This wasn't how she had intended to come to Lallybroch at all, she had in fact arranged a meeting through one of Geilis's contacts to find a local estate agent to tour the pace formally. Now she was here at the heart of the estate with all the information at her fingertips and not a clue how to go about it.

Reminding herself to focus, Claire picked up the phone and placed a phonecall to her bed and breakfast explaining she would be later than scheduled and then thought about phoning Geilis but decided she couldn't see the point. Claire could never quite tell where she stood with Geilis. The woman was friendly enough but Claire always got the feeling she was simply a useful business contact. Better to phone the office, but that would be an awkward conversation to have, standing here in the Ghillie's office itself. Better to wait until she found her hotel to phone in.

A spreadsheet on the wall caught her attention, noting the estimated number of game animals on the estate and notes about habitat and feeding supplements. She wondered how that married up with the lack of vegetation – there was little but heather as far as the eye could see, apart from the mature trees surrounding the Big House.

Behind her, a man cleared his throat. Claire turned around to find Jamie standing in the door and a First Aid kit in hand.

“Jamie Fraser, Deputy-Ghillie of Broch Tuarach. I realise I didn't introduce myself properly, before.” Jamie put down the First Aid kit on the nearest desk and held out his right hand.

“Claire Beauchamp,” Claire shook his hand and noted the way his touch lingered a second too long before he ducked his eyes away, long lashes touching his cheeks as he blinked. “Mrs Fitz showed me here to borrow your phone.”

“Of course,” Jamie nodded. “Do you need me to...” He pointed at the doorway.

“Oh, no. Thank you. I'm done.” Claire's eyes glanced to the first aid kit and then back at Jamie. He was clearly still in a bit a pain, judging by the occasional wince when he moved. “You should probably put that in a sling,” Claire nodded at the injured shoulder and with Jamie's permission, sat him down once more and trussed him up in a tight sling. “Do you have painkillers?”

“Ibuprofin.”

“Make sure you eat something,” Claire insisted which elicited an odd little smirk from Jamie Fraser's mouth.

Now, Claire's mind told her. Now was the time to tell him who she was, what she was here for but she found herself staring at him instead, with no words coming out of her mouth.

“I didn't realise-”

“Mrs Fitz said-”

They both spoke at the same time and then laughed, awkwardly. Jamie cleared his throat, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. “Go on.”

“I was only saying, I didn't realise you worked here. Deputy-Ghillie?”

“Well, for now at least. Dougal's the one actually in charge but,” Jamie pointed at the newspaper. “I'm afraid you find us as sixes and sevens. We've had a bit of a shock, finding out in the paper – the estate's been put up for sale.”

Claire found her eyes drawn down to the crumpled paper lying on Jamie's desk. Surely that couldn't be right. “That's awful. You found out in the paper?” But Jamie didn't seem in the mood for sympathy and merely shrugged. “I owe it to the staff to try and find out what's going but there's work still to be done. I mostly manage the infrastructure. The stables, roads, horses, drainage. All the stuff that enables the smooth running of the commercial side of the estate.”

“Well it does seems a well run estate,” Claire offered the compliment.

Jamie nodded. “Aye, well, Himself was always a bit traditional about things but I did as he asked. Plenty of deer, grouse shooting, ye ken? It's a sporting estate. Not that I mean to bore you with tales of water conduits and road maintenance...” Jamie trailed off awkwardly and then gestured out in the yard. “I've got the Land Rover here. I cannae drive trussed up like a Christmas turkey but Murtagh will give us a ride back to your car.”

“Thank you,” Claire forced a smile and nodded.

On balance, ten minutes later, Claire decided she preferred sharing transport on horseback. After only a short drive her heart was in her mouth, and her stomach wasn't much better. Murtagh's driving left something to be desired and his endless drivel wasn't much better. As they pulled up in the passing place behind Claire's own car, Murtagh shut off the engine and Jamie asked him to stay in the Land Rover as he walked Claire the short distance back to her car.

Claire couldn't escape the slight eyebrow raise Murtagh cast at the younger man and the small shake of Jamie's head. She wondered what that was about as Jamie fell into step beside her and they meandered the short distance along the verge to her car.

“I never asked what you did,” Jamie mentioned, staring off towards the horizon.

In this light, the afternoon sun fading into evening his russet curls glistened beautifully in the warm oranges and reds of the evening light. Claire paused a moment, taking him in, his handsome face and the proud bearing of his shoulders and felt a flutter in her stomach; and then she remembered why she was there and her own shoulders tightened. “No, you didn't. Actually I've been asked to look come up from Edinburgh to look at a property on behalf of a client. I'm not meeting the agent until tomorrow but I thought I'd come up early and get a head start.”

Jamie nodded. “Aye, property's a fine thing, if ye can afford it in these parts. Many's a local would love their own home...but never mind about that.” Jamie opened his sporran and took out a business card. “Here. Doesn't hurt to have a friend you can call.”

Claire took the card and inspected it closely.

“Or...if you just want a coffee. Sometime.” Jamie offered.

Claire blinked and looked up. His eyes were warm, and gentle. Hopeful. “I'll bear that in mind.” She paused a moment longer, then pocketed the card and got out of the car. “Nice to meet you, Jamie Fraser.”

Jamie watched her get into her car and drive off, taking the Inverness road as he had instructed her on their ride down. Back at the house he could imagine Dougal, ever the ladies man, leering over Claire's arse and making bawdy remarks. Instead of turning around, Jamie switched on a track of Mogwai and radioed in he was going to be late.

Murtagh cast his god-son a look.

“Time to check the drainage on the high ground,” Jamie declared.

And without a word said, Murtagh started the car and drove off into the sunset.

In the passenger seat, Jamie Fraser watched Claire's car disappear against the backdrop of highland hills and heather and thought of something his father – God rest his soul – had told him long ago:

_'You'll know her when you meet her.'_

________

* * *

 

Music rec: Local Authority by Mogwai from the album The Hawk Is Howling https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=VDj67VZnbUw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Report on Deer management in Scotland, Report to the Scottish Government from Scottish Natural Heritage 2016; Environment, Climate Change and Land Reform Committee (http://www.parliament.scot/S5_Environment/Inquiries/ReportDeerManagementScotlandSNHtoSG2016.pdf)  
> Contains information licenced under the Open Scottish Parliament Licence V.2 (http://www.parliament.scot/Fol/Scottish_Parliament_Licence_2017.pdf)
> 
> Information quoted originates from - Deer Management in Scotland: Report to the Scottish Government from Scottish Natural Heritage 2016 which is available online through the SNH website at:
> 
> http://www.snh.org.uk/pdfs/publications/corporate/DeerManReview2016.pdf


	4. Chapter 4

 

“ _The right to buy land in which a community interest has been registered arises and may be exercised when the owner of the land or, as the case may be, a creditor in a standard security with a right to sell the land gives, or is deemed to have given, notice under section 48(1) below that a transfer is proposed._ ”

 

s47(1) Land Reform (Scotland) Act 2003

 

~

 

Chapter 4

 

The Bed and Breakfast that Claire was booked into was accessible by a small B-rode that wound along the river at the bottom of the glen surrounded by miles of desolate moorland under a grey Scottish sky. Mile by mile, Claire could see that there were all sorts of things that were ever so slightly different up here. The food, the accents. The Gaelic on the roadsigns. Even the trees seemed different.

When she had passed through Blair Atholl in Perthshire hours before, Claire couldn't not help but notice the way the trees in that place seemed heartier, stronger.

Wilder.

Even compared with the culture and civility of the lowlands, this place seemed further away than a few hundred miles. Clearly things were not the same here as they were in the central belt and Claire had been doing this line of work long enough to know it was best not to step on too many toes. Be polite. Don't talk politics or religion. Get used to everything being closed on Sundays.

A glance at her phone told Claire the signal fluctuated between an intermittent single bar and zero. Sighing, she put it down and focused on the drive along the glen.

Located at the edge of a small town, the large two story detached house was set in its own small garden with a sign outside promising three star accommodation. The accommodation website informed her that there were a couple of shops and a cafe on the high street and a small primary school near the river that ran through on it's way to The Great Glen. A modest sized industrial estate was located at the back of the town, servicing the surrounding agricultural community for anything not worth the trip to Inverness and you could drive through the whole lot of it in two minutes flat.

In this light the river was pretty, crossed by an old stone bride and surrounded by trees and parkland. Beyond the town the sight of patchwork heather moorland stretched off into miles and miles of desolate, barren hill. Not so much as a silver birch tree lifted its head above the heather up there but at this time of the evening with the dying light the heather rippled in myriad shades of red and purple interspersed with neat little cubes of densely packed, dark, pine woodland on selected hillsides. In contrast with the wildness of the muir, down here in the glen the sturdy masonry of the houses and town walls, the solid roads and modern infrastructure gave a sense of modern civilisation even if the telecommunications networks were yet to entirely catch up.

Following the instructions from the accomodation website, Claire found her way easily to the Bed and Breakfast she had booked and parked her car in the street out front. She was met at the door by an older woman who introduced herself as Mrs Baird who informed Claire that she would be happy to provide dinner for a modest extra charge. Claire was so exhausted after her long day that she was happy at the thought of being able to run a bath, let her hair down and look forward to a warm, hearty dinner. In her room she put down her bag, preferring not to think of the heavy reports she would have to scan over tonight to have all the information at her fingertips for the meeting with the agent in the morning.

Whereas once upon a time Claire might have looked forward to the opportunity for a few days away, eating out, letting her hair down and naughty telephone calls to Frank late at night, now she sighed and resigned herself to reading the latest quango report on the management of the uplands. She could only hope enough of it would stick to allow her to bluff her way through the following day. Though Claire easily understood the basics around the Scottish Government calling for reduced deer numbers and increased biodiversity she also knew that fewer deer meant less game for shooting, which would surely be against the interests of the sporting estates.

As with any business, in Claire's experience, there were progressives and those who took a more traditional approach but at the end of the day much of it came down to simple economics. A sheep that was worth less than a vet's call out was unlikely to ever be treated and the deer were there in such numbers because of their value as game. It was a world Claire had a feeling she was going to be learning a lot about in the next few days but from her conversations with Geilis Duncan, Claire understood that international businessmen like Charles Stewart who bought large estates in Scotland considered themselves to be buying a piece of heritage, a way of life, on top of their value as sporting estates. From what she had managed to find out in the brief time between meeting Geilis and departing Edinburgh, Claire was beginning to appreciate that people spent thousands of pounds for the privilege of going shooting in Scotland and while she had always known it it existed, it wasn't something that had ever had much cause to come within her work remit so far. Being English and from Oxfordshire, Claire had largely been tasked with arable farming matters and a small amount of sheep. Crops, varieties, their prices and uses were all second nature to her. Anything to do with game, hunting or grouse moors had been someone else's problem.

Until now.

As someone who had always felt a certain affinity for ordinary people it was the tenants Claire felt for, too often viewed as an inconvenience by absent landowners who sometimes bought estates without knowing the way things worked or even viewing the estate themselves. Frank had talked often about Scottish history, but according to Geilis Duncan, often times international buyers had no idea of the history of the clearances, or the crofting legislation that Claire know mostly by reputation as inordinately complicated.

Claire hoped on this trip she might be able to come to her own conclusions about the state of things, however, rather than relying on her friend in Edinburgh who happened to hail from Inverness-shire herself.

As for the landlords, Claire had dealt with many excellent landlords over the years and she she knew it wasn't fair to tar them all with the same brush. Times were changing and there were estates that were beginning to do things differently. From what she had seen on her initial encounter with Lallybroch, however, Claire was hedging on the seller being one of the more traditional ones. Though she was still a relative novice at all things highlands. As for the deer, Claire could only guess from the overgrazed state of the moor that the density of deer here was particularly high, but she guessed that the gamekeepers knew their stuff and Claire had a peculiar feeling she would need to go in with all the knowledge she could muster at her fingertips the next time she encountered either the Ghillie or his Deputy. First however, there was a local agent to be met in the morning and after dinner and an early night, Claire put on the radio quietly and listened to a local station playing traditional Scottish music while she tried to do some speed reading on the matters soon to be at hand.

 

On the Lallybroch estate Jamie Fraser let himself into his sister's house and grinned, as he often did, at the warmth of love and family in this home. He was greeted first by his oldest nephew, Jamie, who was still in the wee local school for another couple of years but at eight years old often asked to come out on the estate with his father and uncle. It was coming toward the time to burn the heather and Jamie knew the lad would be eager to help. Jenny, however, hoped for better things for her eldest than working an estate, already pushing Jamie to study and get into the top stream so he would have the best chance at exams and university in the future. There was no shortage of lads looking for careers in game keeping. Not much else to do in these parts by way of jobs other than go off and join the Army but Janet Fraser was determined that _her_ son, at least, would have an education like the Uncle he was named for. Just as he thought of her Jamie's sister Janet came rushing through from the kitchen, her hands already wiping themselves clean on her apron to welcome her brother and then Janet laid a hand on her son's shoulder ushering him to tell his father that Uncle Jamie was here, allowing Janet Fraser a moment to read Jamie's eyes.

“Oh brother! Look at you! Look at your shoulder, what have you done? Come into the kitchen. You must tell me what news there is of the estate!”

Jamie's shoulders dropped a good six inches and he ran a hand down his face. Another change of owner, another period of uncertainty for the tenants and the estate staff and another reminder of what had once been lost to them as a family. Jamie could see very well his sister was frantic with anxiety.

“I dislocated it. A Good Samaritan popped it back in for me. It'll be fine with some rest.”

Janet Fraser stopped then and looked at her brother properly. “And Lallybroch?”

Jamie said not a word.

Instinctively, Janet Fraser moved in for a hug and Jamie held his sister long and hard before finally moving away.

“Oh, Jamie! The whole village has been talking about it since the news came out. Why didn't you come over sooner?”

“Ocht, we both know there've been rumours for some time,” Jamie said with an air of dismissal. He thought of Claire and wondered, if the sale went ahead, if it would be worth looking for work in the central belt.

Janet Fraser got the feeling that her brother was being deliberately evasive. The last thing she needed was Jamie feeling all sorry for himself and holing himself up in that cottage of his. She got her waggy finger out and pointed it straight at him. “That is verra much not the point, Jamie Fraser, and well you know it. Now come into the kitchen and sit yerself down.”

The kitchen was warm, and homely. The local radio station played away in the corner, some overly cheerful DJ giving shout outs to all the kids listening while doing their home work and playing awful pop music. Jamie shook his head. Give him Runrig any day! But Janet insisted the kids liked it, so it stayed on.

On the cooker, the potatoes and vegetables were boiling and the meat was in the oven ready to serve. As soon as Janet put the call out feet started thundering through the small house. First the kids piled in, young Jamie talking about school and the little ones toddling and wanting rides on Uncle Jamie's knee and then Janet's husband Ian not far behind, still wearing his kilt from that day's estate work. The table around which they were gathered was too small, the ventilation too poor and the windows were needing some work but the cut of venison from the estate made a meal fit for kings and for a few minutes there was pleasant silence as the gathered family ate their fill.

It pained Jamie to think he used all the leverage he could think of on the landlord, and still there was little interest from on high in looking after the tenents properties properly. He did what he could, but it wasn't enough, as the regular visits to his sister's house reminded him frequently.

With the worrying news of the day hanging over them, all the adults were tense and out of sorts. The little ones were too young to understand what was going on, but Janet Fraser's harried mood could not be ignored and as soon as dinner was eaten she hurried the kids off to watch some television while she boiled the kettle and made a pot of tea.

“Jamie, brother, I'm sorry to say it but that bastard! I don't have words for how angry I am. We've lost another two families in the last year and now the school is struggling to stay open, and to put the remaining tenents on the estate all on tenterhooks wi' worry over the future of the estate. Half the town relies on Lallybroch for employment and a roof over their heads.”

“More than that, Janet,” Ian chipped in.

They've always crammed as many deer onto those hills as they can. Some pen pusher down in Edinburgh or up in Inverness might talk about reducing numbers and somesuch but what do they know of the folks living here waiting for God-knows-who, some international millionaire probably, to make up his mind about how he wants to use his latest playground?”

“Janet...” Ian tried to interrupt, but there was no stopping Janet Fraser when she got something into her mind.

“What do you suppose they'll do with it?”

“More of the same, I'd imagine,” Ian shrugged. “Jamie tries, don't get me wrong, but it's not entirely up to him what's done and it's been that way since...well a long time. We all know that.

“Aye, the Clearances changed everything,” Jamie agreed. “And the Butcher before that, may his soul rot in hell. They started burning heather after the '45 and and it only got worse as the shooting estates got brought in. Vermin control, draining the bogs...” Jamie shooks his head. “For all it pains me to say it, we all know I take little pleasure in certain aspects of my job. But it's not like I could do aught else, is it, Janet? Nor Ian. Not on this land.”

“Our family's land,” Janet insisted pointedly.

“And what are we going to do about that? We both know this land was confiscated after the '45. We cannae rightly walk up to the Court of Session and ask for it back.”

“Maybe it could be a good thing,” Ian suggested. “Changes are happening, slowly. There's a lot of pressure in some parts to do things that involve the community a bit more. Climate change, all that stuff.”

Jamie had known Ian a long time, and would never think ill off him either behind his back or to his face, but Jamie could not help but think his brother-in-law's words a mite optimistic. “A good thing?” Jamie frowned. “What, another absentee landlord giving orders from on high? Trying to deal with some wanker urbanite land manager in the central belt via email? You have to give them a manual so they know which fodder to buy, or when to put the snow tyres on, never mind deer fences, and kill counts, and stock density numbers! And Dougal's got more concerns about this year's grouse surplus.”

“But Jamie, it's all over the papers these days. Reform, doing things differently. We might get someone...progressive!”

“Ian, I love you like a brother but dinnae talk daft. The visitors dinnae ken it like we do, but memories are long in these parts. Once these were Clan Fraser lands, managed, as we all well know, for the good of the clan. Now...” Jamie shook his head. “Everyone who works here, and lives here, knows the way things are done. It's all done for done for the deer and the grouse – and the rich twats that shoot them. Christ, how often have we gone out stalking wi' city types green about the ears who havene ever seen a gun, or who act so god-damned high and mightly wi' their accents and their talking down to 'Ghillie!' like ye dinnae hae a name. Folks rich enough to have yachts and planes and houses in London. No, Ian. For all the talk in newspapers these days of change and reform, we all know who these estates are run for and isnae the folk as live and work on them. The only way things'll change in Lallybroch and others like it is if someone puts the folks who actually live here in charge.” Jamie tailed off and shook his head softly.

Beside the table Janet stopped, teapot in hand. She placed it down on the table and stared at it, her mind wandering off after a thought. “What if we did?”

Jamie and Ian stopped talking and looked at her.

“What if we...we, the locals, asked to be put in charge.” Jenny's voice grew stronger as the concept solidified in her mind. “Community Right To Buy.”

“A Community Buy Out,” Jamie's brows knitted together. “Of Lallybroch? But...Jenny buy outs are for wee islands or community gardens or suchlike. A buy out on this scale...” Jamie shook his head.

Janet Fraser, however, put her hand on her hip. “A biy-out on this scale has been done before, Little Brother. We all know how highly respected you are in these parts. As a Ghillie, aye, but as a veteran and a Fraser too. You live and breath this land, Jamie, we all do.”

“So does Dougal Mackenzie and he's got some decidedly different ideas from what I do. Aye, I might be a Fraser and all of that stuff but I cannae erase two hundred years of history just by willing it, Janet!”

“No...but I know what it cost you to come back here, to heal, after everything that happened to you. You told me after you'd got back from Afghan you'd seen enough killing to last a life time. So tell me now, brother, can you honestly tell me if given free reign you'd choose to do as you do? Culling anything that moves that isnae game? Draining the muir? How many times has the river burst its banks in town, with the amount of water running off, flooding the school high street sometimes and every time it happens you go there yourself and help out and then you drag your arse here at the end of the day and rant about trees and flood management and railing againt the Landlord. Jamie, brother, I might not know enough to run an estate but I do know you well enough to see you know it all, inside out. You know exactly what's happneing here.”

“I don't know a thing about Community Buy Outs.”

Ian who, up until that point had been letting the siblings battle it out, spoke up at this point. It didn't seem like a bad idea to him. “It doesn't matter if you don't know, we'll find someone who does. Ned might help. Jamie, Janet's right. It takes someone to start something, to lead a thing like this. The paperwork - that's what lawyers are for. But the hearts and minds? There's many a family on this estate trying to eek out a living wouldn't like the thought of going it alone. They need someone to inspire them. Someone they believe in.”

Jamie stared at Ian's leg. “Is this the part where you emotionally blackmail me?”

“Don't look at me!” Ian protested. “All I did was get blown up.”

“On my behalf, you wee bastard,” Jamie jostled Ian, shaking away memories of that horrific day, of the IED that Jamie always felt had been meant for him.

Ian patted Jamie's shoulder and then raised his teacup. “A toast.”

“Hang on, I haven't agreed to anything yet!”

Janet and Ian waited, expectantly. Jamie looked from one to the other. He looked away, sighed, and then looked back. “We'd need to put out some feelers. Get consensus about it, ye ken?”

Janet and Ian nodded.

“And we'd be doing it all proper. Community councils and lawyers and paperwork, in black and white.”

Jenny and Ian nodded, their smiles a little wider at the mouth.

“And I'm not doing a damn thing until I've talked to Ned Gowan!”

There was a short pause while Ian and Janet waited to see if Jamie was done and then, quietly, Ian tapped his teacup against Jamie's.

“To Lallybroch?” Ian suggested.

Woken out of his stupor, Jamie found himself raising his own cup. “To Lallybroch.”

“To Lallybroch!” Janet joined in the chorus.

* * *

 

Music rec: Lorient Mornings/Grande Nuit In Port du Peche/Davy Webster set from the album Thunderstruck by Gordon Duncan https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=DwSPFhCMRkE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s47(1) Land Reform (Scotland) Act 2003 quoted from legislation.gov.uk (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/asp/2003/2/section/47). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/)


	5. Chapter 5

_"Hunting estates loom large in any analysis of Scottish landownership on account of their extent and the conspicuous consumption that this form of landholding represents in a region of Scotland where the land issue has been so prominent. There are around 340 such properties covering around 2.1 million hectares of land – over 50 percent of all privately owned land in the region. The typical estates ranges in size from 5000 to 8000 hectares."_

_p163, The Poor Had No Lawyers, A. Wightman, Birlinn, 2010_

 

Chapter 5

 

After the tea had come whisky and after whisky came headaches, as Jamie found out the next morning when he woke up on his sister's sofa with a blanket thrown over his waist and a cracking headache.

Wee Ian, barely old enough to walk was prying at Jamie's eyelids with his chubby little fingers and Jamie batted the wee lad away only to find him climbing up and snuggling under the blanket with his uncle. Jenny found them like that twenty minutes later, Jamie still dozing in and out of sleep, bringing him an aspirin and a large glass of water with strict instructions to down it. Jenny prised wee Ian away to get dressed and informed Jamie he had exactly ten minutes to use the shower before she took over the bathroom for the kids and he had better get a move on.

Jamie groaned, his head pounding, but after a large glass of water and a hot shower he had to admit it wasn't the worst hangover he had ever had, even if he was in for a bit of a ribbing in the staff room turning up for work slightly the worse for wear. He'd felt like this often enough to know it would likely wear off by mid-morning if he looked after himself. Ian, clearly, had gone a bit steadier and looked annoyingly chipper, offering to drive Jamie up to the estate over breakfast.

“We'll need to organise a meeting,” Jamie tried to gather his thoughts.

Ian sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and adjusting the sock on his stump before he put on his prosthetic leg. “Why don't we put the word out on the estate and Jenny can tackle the village when she take the bairns tae playgroup. The village hall is usually free after Scouts. Eight o'clock, lets say?”

“Eight o'clock,” Jamie nodded. “Aye. I'll make a few phonecalls and find out what we're letting ourselves in for wi' all this.”

Jenny came in then, a child on one hip and another one at her hand. She deposited one each with her husband and brother and went to put some porridge on. Jamie sat cluching his coffee, hoping the aspirin would kick in soon as he watched his niece braiding his hair. Outside a grey mizzle covered the landscape, obscuring hilltops and filling glens so that the whole place had a sort of ethereal quality, as if appearing from the mists of time. When Jamie stepped outside with Ian to head up to the Big House the air smelt fresh, in that way it did when it rained, but it was grey as far as the eye could see. Already in the walk between the croft and the land rover Jamie could see the misty droplets gathering on his brother-in-law's tweed jacket.

“Looks like it's on for the day,” Ian observed.

Jamie would check the forecast when he got into work, but looking at the sky he considered that Ian was probably right. Cool and damp was the sort of weather that Scotland did particularly well, closely followed by sunshine and showers and much to Jamie's annoyance the midgies seemed out in force, probably due to the mild temperature for the time of year and the lack of wind. For some reason Ian seemed able to walk through entire clouds of the wee buggers without hardly a bite while Jamie had only to think the word 'midgie' and he got eaten alive by thousands of the wee blighters.

A few miles away Claire was up bright and early at the Bed & Breakfast and dressed for work in her suit and blouse. Today looked like it was mostly going to be about paperwork, and she wanted to look the part. Businesslike, professional. She checked her hair and added a touch more hairspray. She had borrowed an iron from the landlady and pressed her blouse and Claire was down in the dining room promptly for breakfast. This morning she had ensured she used the special citronella moisturiser she brought specially for these trips. While not technically an insect repellant, Claire found it helped keep the midgies away and it didn't smell too bad either. Down in the dining room, Claire declined the offer of a fried breakfast in favour of scrambled free range eggs with fresh smoked salmon on toasted oatbread and a strong black coffee, served with a small square of home made tablet on the side.

Claire had to give them that at least – the food up here was really very good. The weather, unfortunately, was not so good but as she was due to meet with a local estate agent in town it hardly mattered. After breakfast she took a pleasant walk along the path by the river, noting the depth measure by the bridge and found herself wondering just how high the river had ever flooded. On along the riverbank, a robin sang from a small bush near a manicured flower bed and Claire arrived on the high street just in time for her nine o'clock meeting with a local solicitor by the name of Ned Gowan who was the land owner's main local point of contact and Claire's first stop to finding out about the estate. The door was open and Claire let herself in to a neutrally appointed office situated in one of the high street's old stone buildings overlooking the Mercat Cross. A secretary was standing talking to a man sharply dressed in a tailored suit that had a certain air of authority about it. A small pair of reading glasses was perched on his nose and in his hand was clutched a cup of what looked to be very strong coffee. They looked up as she entered and Claire put on her most polite smiled and cleared her throat.

“Claire Beauchamp,” Claire introduced herself. “I'm looking for Ned Gowan.”

“Yes of course, Ms Beauchamp,” Mr Gowan shook Claire's hand and gave her a polite smile. “You're talking to Ned Gowan himself. We've been expecting you.” He had a kindly face and radiated a reassuring feeling that everything would be quite well. “I'm afraid I just have to finish up another small matter before we open proceedings. My secretary would be happy to fetch you a cup of tea while you wait, I'll just be five minutes.”

In complete contrast to Mister Gowan's attitude, the Secretary looked anything but happy to be assigned the task of making tea and so sour was the expression on the woman's face that Claire nearly offered to make her own before deciding that in fact she had consumed quite sufficient quantities of hot drinks at breakfast and politely declined the offer of the tea.

Ned Gowan retreated inside his office, closed the door, and picked up the telephone, pressing the hold button. “Sorry about that, Jamie, what were you saying? A buy out? Why yes of course it's an option but you'll have to move quickly. The property has only officially just advertised yet and I understand there is already interest from around the world. International, Jamie, and you'll already be behind with not having a registered community body. Of course with my previous work concerning the estate it is possible I may not be at liberty to act for you...” Ned Gowan paused. “Why don't you give me a call before you go to the village hall tonight. I should know by then where we stand.”

On the other end of the line Jamie ended the call and Ned Gowan paused a moment to take stock before going to the door and inviting Claire Beauchamp into the room.

Ned Gowan's office was comfortable, used, and busy. Paperwork and files were everywhere. The comfortable leather office chairs were worn and cracked and every possible surface was filled with sheets of paper, files, books and documents. Ned once more requested a pot of tea and Ned Gowan waited until the Secretary was out of the room before pouring tea for them both and continuing their introduction.

“You've travelled a long way to be here, Ms Beauchamp,” Ned Gowan opened.

“I suppose it is a little way, but in truth I enjoyed the journey. It's good to get out of the office.”

“Indeed it is,” Ned smiled wistfully. “Now, I understand you are here to talk about Lallybroch?”

“Yes. I was told you were engaged as a legal representative for the estate?”

Ned Gowan cleared his throat and removed his reading glasses from his nose before folding them into his pocket. “In a manner of speaking. In the past I have frequently been asked to untake work here and there on behalf of the estate or its employees. My proximity and my acquaintance with matters local have both historically been in my favour when it comes to routine legal requirements. On this occasion, however, the owner of Lallybroch Estate has chosen to instruct one of the large Edinburgh law firms for the purposes of advertising and completing the sale of Lallybroch. And so as a result I am no longer officially acting on behalf of Lallybroch Estates. Due to my familiarity with the circumstances of the property, however, I have been asked by the owner's new legal representatives to undertake any small adhoc matters concerning the estate that require local attention, so in a manner of speaking, yes, I am acting for Lallybroch estate but only to the extent of being an externally contracted party, do you see?”

Claire almost smiled at the way the gentle man appeared to slip into such delicate legal-ese. “Quite so, Mister Gowan.”

Mister Gowan's smile was warm and polite. “So long as, of course, any such matters do not unduly conflict with any of my other work,” Ned Gowan added. “At present, I am happy to inform you that I am able to oblige your request and have the permission of the owner and his representatives to brief you on the estate, it's running and any matters concerning it's potential sale. I must confess, even in such a short space of time there has been quite a lot of local interest in the matter.”

“I can imagine. A good number of the people round here must be tenents of the estate, or work there. It is only understandable that people would be concerned.”

Ned Gowan joined his fingers and rested them on his desk. He leaned over and stared hard at Claire over the top of his glasses. “You might understand, therefore, that I want to be quite clear about the parties concerned here.”

Claire smiled politely. “I was briefed by that top Edinburgh law firm, Mister Gowan, who seemed quite sure of the identity of their client.”

“Well then,” Ned Gowan cleared his throat and began reading from a page in front of him. “Lallybroch is a traditionally run sporting estate that encompasses roughly five thousand hectares of prime highland land, including upland moors, pine and deciduous forests, rivers, lochs and streams as well as a considerable number of crofting tenancies and Lallybroch Village itself. The heritable property, as it is classed in Scots Law, also includes the title of Laird Broch Turach as well as the right to hunt the res nullius animals and fish therein, including grouse, red deer and salmon.” Ned paused and took off his glasses. “My dear, I suppose you cannot be unaware – and you will excuse me for saying so – but Charles Stuart is quite a divisive figure in these parts. You may want to be careful as to those with whom you share the details of your client.”

“Thank you for your concern, Mister Gowan. I'll take your advice on judgement but technically Charles Stuart is not actually my client.”

“Indeed? Howso?”

“Well, as you so succintly explained yourself, I am merely a contractor. I am actually employed by a firm that is in the business of managing large estates that are owned by people who do not have the time or inclination to take on the management themselves. I was actually sent here to look at the estate on behalf of Charles Stuart's legal representatives.”

“Indeed? Ned Gowan paused, pregnantly, and then smiled politely. Whatever words were on the tip of his tongue were not, apparently, going to be spoken any time soon but Claire thought she detected a curiosity and a hint of confusion.

“I am here on the understanding, Mister Gowan, that if Mister Stuart is successful in his purchase, we would be employed to manage the estate.” Claire smiled politely.

“As the management company, you mean?” Ned Gowan's eyebrows rose with surprise.

“Yes, Mister Gowan. And due to the circumstances we were asked by his lawyers to look at the property on his behalf. To see if it would be agreeable, both to us as a management company and as a fit to the remit the client gave to his legal representatives. You can understand that a businessman of Mister Stuart's stature requires a property that fits in with his existing portfolio.”

Ned Gowan removed his glasses and pinching them by the leg, stared hard at Claire Beauchamp. “His existing portfolio? I take it you are referring to Mister Stuart's high profile hotel investments in New York and London? And his recent purchase of a football team in the English Championship?” Ned Gowan blinked hard and then paused and his expression changed from surprise with a well concealed flicker of horror to polite and courteous warmth. “How interesting that he would think to add Lallybroch.”

“I'm afraid I am not at liberty to discuss Mister Stuart's portfolio, Mister Gowan, I was merely making the point that Charles Stuart is not, at present, my direct client as such, although he may yet be in the future,” Claire paused and then leaned in slightly, her own polite smile fixed to match Mister Gowan's .“Just so we're clear about the parties.” Claire spoke with a whisper but the point was well enough made. Though she bore no ill will to Mister Gowan, she had no desire to be taken advantage of by someone who was clearly more shrewd than he let on.

“Of course,” Ned Gowan inclined his head politely, in a somewhat archaic gesture of acquiescence that Claire found oddly touching. “Well, since you are enjoying being out of the office so, I wondered whether you might want to take a little drive around the estate with me. I will of course speak to the Ghillie and ask him to give you a more detailed tour later, if you are so inclined, but a little pre-emptory introduction would not be amiss, I think?”

Half an hour later, in Ned Gowan's land rover, Claire found herself staring out the window at a sheep with footrot that was hobbling along painfully. It was surrounded by heather and course grassland. While of course Claire knew the system of hill sheep farming to lowland to plate, she had never really taken the time to actually visit the uplands where the blackface ewes came from that provided the mothers for the lowland lambs. Likes as not, few of the locals who had spent their entire lives at the highlands had much interest in going to visit lowland sheep either were the shoe on the other foot, unless required to do so by virtue of their work. It made her wonder what the locals would think about this, with their crofts and domestic animals and vegetable patches. “Mister Gowan, if I may ask, I realise a figure like Charles Stuart may not be to everyone's taste but I would have thought the locals would prefer someone with a...connection? Do you really think Mister Stuart can expect hostility from them?”

“You might be a little bit surprised by what locals think in these parts, Ms Beauchamp,” Ned responded cryptically, but in spite of waiting Claire soon realised that any futher explanation was not forthcoming and she went on watching the sheep with her new thick winter coat and beautiful curling horns hobble on through the mist and reeded grassland.

* * *

The Elusive Highland Beauty by The Elephant Sessions from their album The Elusive Highland Beauty.


	6. Chapter 6

 

" **Landlord, having the Game, may authorize others to kill it.**

 _Where the lessor or landlord shall have reserved to himself the right of killing the game upon any land, it shall be lawful for him to authorize any other person or persons to enter upon such land for the purpose of pursuing and killing game thereon._ "

s11, Game Act 1831

 

 ~

 

Chapter 6

They spent a good portion of the rest of the morning driving for miles, pointing out grouse moor, red deer herds, the patches of heather to be burnt where the scrub of bushes and small trees were threatening to come up. The forests, the rivers, the lochs. Ned explained the different species of game the estate could support, the different species of fish found in the streams, lochs and waterways, the infrastructure, the roads and bridges and buildings, the school and the post office and the small extant crofts scattered across empty corners of the estate. Ned explained that there was also a remote mountain bothy, unreachable by road but that the Deputy-Ghillie, Jamie, looked after it. Apparently the Ghillie himself thought it something of a waste of time but the younger lad had taken a liking to the remote place.

“Tomorrow, once I have contacted the staff at the estate and made all the necessary arrangements I can introduce you. Dougal, the Ghillie, is rather serious and obviously quite busy at the moment but I'm sure one of his deputies would be happy to help you out. His assistants Ian and Jamie are both more than capable. Jamie in particular has the remit of looking after much of infrastructure. If you intend to take an interest in the state of the property I'd be happy to introduce you.”

“Jamie Fraser, you mean? Ah yes, we've actually met already, Mister Gowan.”

“Indeed?” Ned's eyebrows rose. He pinched the legs of his glasses, as if to take them off in order to peer more carefully at this curious Sassenach creature.

Claire pre-empted him by explaining, “I met him on the road, you might say.” And kept the rest of the story to herself behind another polite, close-lipped smile.

Ned Gowan nodded in acknowledgement that the conversation was unlikely to go any further for now and turned the four-by-four in order to drive them both back into town. It had been an expansive, whirlwind tour of the basic extent of the property and by early afternoon Claire was ready to head back to her B&B and look over her notes. As they pulled over to the kerb outside Mrs Baird's Bed & Breakfast, Claire was sure that she would have a lot of reading and summarising to do before she could would feel capable of briefing Geilis.

After a bowl of Mrs Baird's best home made broth for lunch, Claire put on her jacket and boots and went for a walk along the riverbank, the better to get a little privacy to make a phone call to Geilis confirming her arrival and her initial assessment that the property seemed to fit the outline the client had provided. Further investigation tomorrow would hopefully reveal what the stocks were like, the kill counts for deer and grouse, vermin management and the basic state of the infrastructure. A written report was promised once Claire had looked into things a little further.

After the phonecall Claire lingered a little longer. It was quiet there and Claire had only a small flock of geese and ducks scattered around the riverside to keep her company which was just as well. Claire had a feeling that anything overheard in her accomodation would quickly do the rounds in the local community. Already as Claire had left for her walk a half hour before a petite, dark-haired woman with two children had stopped and stared at her from across the street. The woman, Claire guessed, was probably on her way to the nursery up the street, the only one in town by the looks of things and conveniently it appeared to back onto the old small schoolhouse by the riverbank that remarkably was still in use in spite of it's precarious situation adjacent to the riverbank.

Claire returned to Mrs Baird's Bed & Breakfast by the main door and took the main staircase up to her room. Only when she was halfway up did Claire notice the voices drifting up from the front room where Mrs Baird allowed her visitors to relax or where Mrs Baird herself entertained anyone who came to call.

“...Jamie spoke to Ned Gowan this morning...” The words caught Claire's ears and she paused and then retreated back down a few steps to see whether she could decipher any better who was there. Something told Claire not to give away her presence. Then she heard the words of Mrs Baird responding with a mouthful of colloquialisms that had to mean the vistor was local.

“Aye, weel o' course ah'll be there, Janet. Wouldnae miss it for all the tea in China.”

“We need to see what level of support the idea might have before we go any further with it,” Janet explained. “But time is of the essence.”

“Of course!” Mrs Baird hastily agreed. “Eight o'clock did you say?”

“Aye! Eight o'clock tonight at the village hall after the Scouts wrap up. Apparently there's already international interest...” Claire heard subtle sounds of someone standing up and starting to gather their things. “...we need to move quickly.”

As the sound of muffled footsteps on carpets drew near, Claire hurried upstairs to her room and took a moment to consider this new development. Well, she was sent here to appraise the situation, wasn't she? Claire didn't see anything for it, really. It was quite obvious that she would just have to go along to this meeting and see what the locals were up to.

 

In his office at Lallybroch, Jamie Fraser sipped a cup of fresh hot coffee as he sat in the break room and took a moment to enjoy the peace and quiet. As predicted, Dougal and young Fergus had enjoyed the opportunity for some prime teasing of the boss at his sore head, with Dougal speaking deliberately loudly and Fergus seeming to think it was funny to blast Runrig as loud as the poor, delapidated sound system would oblige.

“ _Feeling alright this morning, Jamie?” Dougal smacked Jamie with a particularly brutal slap to the arm. “Fresh as a daisy and fighting fit, aye?”_

“ _A little quieter, Dougal, if you don't mind.”_

Dougal had only chuckled darkly and winked at Jamie and Jamie had endured a few more comments of the same ilk before he asked Fergus to call in the rest of the hands and announced to the entire room that Ian and himself, and Jenny, were thinking of putting together a proposal for a community land buyout of the estate.

That quickly brought the room to silence, then anticipation, then a riot of noise. It was Ian who, like the good man that he was brought the room to order and then patiently began going through the outline they had sketched out the night before. Only Dougal stood back in the corner, staring at Jamie with an inscruitable expression on his face. In hindsight Jamie realised that it might have been sensible to speak to his uncle in private first, but fortunately Mrs Fitz rescued Jamie from Dougal's attentions by insisting he come into the kitchen for a proper bite to eat before he got started for the day and thereby saved the Ghillie from the awkwardness of challenging Jamie's usurpation, at least for the moment. No one there, however, was under any misapprehension that the question of whether or not Dougal Mackenzie would support the initiative or not hung in the air.

Now sitting in the kitchen, Jamie squinted where the sun was attempting to break through the thick grey mist that only an hour before had seemed completely impentrable.

Mrs Fitz was somewhat more forgiving of Jamie's worse-for-wear state that morning, feeding him plenty of her fresh, home made food to help him on his way to recovery. Within minutes he sat with a mug in one hand and a scone in the other, pouring over the map laid out on the kitchen table and marking it up with a pencil all the while wondering what the point was of carrying out the present landlord's plans for increased drainage from the last patch of blanket bog when he would be out the door in a couple of months. Not that anything was really likely to change. In recent decades the land management to support the deer and grouse had intensified and the number of trees had decreased. Any native shrubs that weren't grazed down to the ground were scorched in the regular pattern of muirburn that rotated on a yearly basis to prevent any serious shrub growth from taking over. Ling heather was the preferred vegetation, being the preferred food of the grouse, interspersed with the persistent native grasses that provided grazing for the deer. The present Landlord's desire had been to increase the income from shooting parties and to therefore have as many deer as possible. More shooting parties meant more deer were required in order to provide enough prey for the high-paying visitors coming up from London or the Central Belt or flying in from abroad for the privilege. The guns used were estate guns. The estates kept the stags and got the benefit of the sale of the meat. Jamie wondered sometimes at the amount of money some people were willing to pay to traipse through heather and point a gun at something. Jamie had always been raised to believe that hunting was something you did out of necessity, the way that their ancestors had survived. He had little enough opinion of those who had the sort of money to burn to spend thousands of pounds on a single day's activity, but he wasn't paid to have an opinion and most of the time, as Dougal had impressed often enough, the best thing for everyone was simply to shut up and get on with it. But what did he know?

In the background the sound of a door and the uneven footfall of Ian's prosthetic indicated Jamie's brother-in-law was approaching and though Jamie couldn't make out the words, Dougal's voice soon clashed with Ian's followed by the slam of the door. Moments later a crunch of gravel through the single glazing was so distinctive that Jamie knew it to be Dougal driving out to head across the estate, probably going to chase after the hares. It was whispered often enough that Dougal trapped and killed plenty of other animals as well, not all of it legal. Dougal never incriminated himself and Jamie never asked. The traps Jamie laid were all on this side of the law but Dougal in his role as stock manager sometimes took phonecalls from the Landlord that Jamie wasn't party to and besides, the estate's vermin control was an open secret, being little different to many other private sporting estates in Scotland. Jamie did his own work to keep the numbers of some of the local native species down, but it broke Jamie's heart a little every time it happened. Aye, he understood, it was necessary to kill the predators to keep the grouse numbers up and the deer had to eat something and if the hillsides were somewhat overgrazed as a result that was just the price that had to be paid to keep things going. As the grouse counts went down year by year however, and the deer continued to be stunted and underfed, Jamie wondered how long the intensive management style Dougal adopted would be sustainable. Dougal would only reply, pointedly, that he was doing what was necessary. Dougal's attitude never quite ventured into open threats but Jamie wasn't an idiot. Not when it came to challenging his Uncle's methods and certainly not when it came to the illegality – everyone in the area knew there wasn't a single hen harrier on the estate and hadn't been for years. It would be a brave soul who did that, right enough. Dougal had a certain status about him, no matter that he wasn't laird. He had been an officer in the Highlanders and still looked quite the commanding figure in his Seaforth Mackenzie trews.

Later in the afternoon as Jamie left the kitchen to plough on through more of the paperwork, he began assessing the statistics for reporting to the authorities. In front of him was the report Dougal had left on Jamie's desk detailing the counts of each species of game and estimated kill counts for the year ahead. Red deer numbers were down, doubtless because of the way nearby publicly owned land had been culling whatever they were allowed to try and bring the numbers down. Grouse bags, too, were in decline and the medicated grit wasn't helping them as much as it used to. The Landlord thought that draining the bog and converting the land over to ling heather would help, but looking at it now, Jamie could only think of the flooding the school had endured three out of the last five winters. An image flared up in his mind of a memorial he had seen on the television once, a mining disaster where an entire school had been crushed under a massive landslide with the children all inside it.

Jamie could not help but worry, every time he passed the precariously situationed Victorian schoolhouse. His sister's kids went to that school, and there was no doubt in his mind that the management of the vegetation on the uplands had something to do with the problems of floodwater and bank erosion downstream through the recent mild and wet winters. Were there more trees on the slopes the run off might be low enough for the river down in the glen to manage without bursting its banks. Now the flooding was so regular that locals had been writing to the local MSP for sand banks and flood defences.

Some of the towns older folks grumbled about Inverness and all the big towns eating up all the cash, with less money for the rural spots. Others insisted the estate was the problem and the estate should pay for it. Meanwhile, as people argued, Jamie was caught in the quandary of doing his job and keeping a roof over his family's heads being the very thing that was threatening his nieces and nephews prospects and education. Putting the matter to one side for now, file by file Jamie spent his day slogging through the administration of the estate making sure everything was in order for any prospective buyers coming sniffing around. There were reports to be read on recent developments in land practice, emails and phonecalls to suppliers, a phonecall to an agricultural merchant in Inverness to see if he had a piece of equipment Jamie needed to hire and on and on. After a late lunch Jamie took a break to walk around Lallybroch and make his usual checks. He checked that the guns were still stored securely, that the stable had everything it needed, that the horses were content. Indulging himself, Jamie spent a few minutes with Trom in his stall, wishing he didn't have to go back to his office. Even as his hangover finally began to ease, Jamie couldn't help but feel that it was going to be a long afternoon and he hadn't even got started on his little personal project yet. Hour by your the clock ticked on. Four o'clock. Five o'clock. Six o'clock.

Two hours to go.

* * *

Music rec: The Sun Smells Too Loud from the album The Hawk Is Howling by Mogwai https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=yUaCxx5npko

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s11 Game Act 1831 quoted from legislation.gov.uk (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/Will4/1-2/32/section/11). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, due to other commitments in Real Life I didn't post over the weekend so this is the chapter from last Friday. I shall try and post again this Friday as usual. Please feel free to comment, don't be scared. *Waves to lurkers* I love hearing from you all and I always try to respond to every comment. Secondly, I have included a line of Scots Gaelic in this chapter. I am something of a beginner when it comes to learning Gaelic, so apologies if there are any errors and if anyone who has Gaelic spots any mistakes please feel free to let me know.

Land Reform (Scotland) Act 2003

####  _ s38 Criteria for registration _

_ (1) Ministers shall not decide that a community interest is to be entered in the Register unless they are satisfied— _

_ (b) that the acquisition of the land by the community body to which the application relates is compatible with furthering the achievement of sustainable development, and that— _

_ (i) a significant number of the members of the community have a connection with the land; _

_ (ii) the land is sufficiently near to land with which those members of the community have a connection; _

_ (iii) where the community body is a body mentioned in section 34(A1)(a), the land is in or sufficiently near to the area of the community by reference to which the community is defined as mentioned in section 34(5)(a), or _

_ (iv) where the community body is a body mentioned in section 34(A1)(b), the land is in or sufficiently near to the area of the community to which the body relates, _

_ (c) where the land is salmon fishings or mineral rights, that the community body— _

_ (i) has registered or is registering an interest in; or _

_ (ii) has acquired or is acquiring, _

_other land containing or contiguous to the waters in which those salmon fishings exist or the land in which those mineral rights are exigible;_

_ (d) that there is within the community a level of support sufficient to justify such registration; and _

_ (e) that it is in the public interest that the community interest be so registered. _

_ (2) Subject to subsection (2A) below, for the purposes of subsection (1)(d) above, Ministers— _

_ (a) shall regard an indication of the approval of one tenth or more of the members of the community; and _

_ (b) may regard an indication of the approval of less than one tenth of those members, _

_as signifying a sufficient level of support._

 

 

**Chapter 7**

  


At the village hall at eight o'clock, Claire watched from a distance as vehicle after vehicle pulled up to park. For as far as Claire could see there were locals walking in from other parts of the town towards the hall and the parking was on the verge of becoming slightly absurd with cars double parking and mounting pavements as more and more people arrived by car from the surrounding countryside wanting to attend the impromptu meeting the locals had called. There was the noisy hubub of a large crowd of people all talking at once, friends and neighbours greeting each other and concerned comments drifting through the air about the sale and the estate and what would happen with the tourism money and the jobs.

  


Claire waited until most of the hall was full before crossing the street and slipping into the back of the hall behind the last of the late arrivals. Her position was conveniently obscured by a tall, heavy set man in front of her but if she stretched her neck Claire could just about see Deputy-Ghillie Jamie Fraser at the top of the room with a small group of people including the petite woman Claire had spotted outside the B&B earlier and two other men, both wearing the kilted uniform of the estate. Perhaps the woman was the Deputy-Ghillie's wife? But why would he have asked her for coffee if he was married? Claire frowned, for Jamie hadn't appeared – at least on first impressions – to be the type.

  


At the back of the hall Claire watched as Jamie climbed up on the small stage at the top of the village hall and spoke a few words in Gaelic. “Feasgar mhath a h-uile duine agus failte gu Broch Tourach,” Jamie switched to English, “Good evening to you all and welcome to Broch Tourach. My name is James Fraser. I am one of the Ghillies on the Lallybroch Estate and as many of you will now be aware, the estate has recently been put up for sale. I think it is fair to say that many of us here, those of us who work on the estate and rely on the Estate for a living have been taken rather aback by the announcement and with so little consultation with the staff or the local community, it is understandable that many people in the room with feel a bit angry at being cut out of the process.”

  


There were nods, Claire could see, from many of those in the hall and someone shouted something that Claire missed but had others shouting out their agreement.

  


“To that end, I invited you all here tonight so that we could have that discussion. Please allow me to introduce my sister, Janet Fraser.”

  


The penny dropped with Claire. The woman Jamie Fraser had been talking to outside, the woman who had been on the street earlier in the day was none other than Jamie Fraser's sister and as she began to speak, Claire began to understand that this was a woman who was as fierce as she was small and reminded Claire somewhat of a small highland terrier. Claire could tell at once that this was a woman who knew the entire workings of the estate inside out and every aspect of the management of it. She spoke with passion of everything Jamie apparently could not say, remind the assembled crowd that this land, once, had been the lands of Clan Fraser and that, before the Forty-Five, the local Fraser lairds had always done their best to run the estate well and look after the local people.

  


“Memories are long in these parts,” Janet Fraser looked about the room. “Many of you gathered here tonight will have grown up with stories of a time when it was not a crime to take a fish for your children's dinnner, or to let your livestock out on the common grazings the Estate has long since claimed they own. The regular reallocation of the run-rigs to ensure the best arable lands were shared fairly and no family was always stuck with the worst of the lot.”

  


There were nods around the room and a few comments from the crowd.

  


“Well, now we have the estate, and many of us rely on the estate and its visitors, for jobs and for income from employment or from the businesses that service it. People come here to shoot the game and they pay generously for the privilege...but many of us also have concerns, I know, about the way things are done. There has been no small talk, in recent years, of land reforms but even as things slowly change in Edinburgh we face today, in our own community, the prospect of another absentee landlord, managing things from afar. Land Managers pulling strings from down south who have never even been here, who will never know this land as we do. Even our friends and neighbours who have moved here from elsewhere feel the way that local opinion is disregarded in one decision after another here, every time it matters.”

  


More nods around the room. “It is true, things are improving in some places, but even on publicly held land, change can be slow and complicated and bureaucratic and not always for the benefit of those who live here in the highlands.”

  


Claire noted the sceptical but quietly acquiescent crowd. Someone heckled that their daughter, a nurse, couldn't find somewhere to live anywhere near her rural job. Another, that their son had been declared ineligible for the family crofting tenency because he lived too far away when the only employment he had been able to find in the region had prevented him from living closer.

  


Janet Fraser allowed the interruptions, using them to gather steam behind her cause. “That, may I say, is exactly what I'm talking about. Those of us who live here, too often, have too little say over our own lives and communities. And many of those who do hold the power are nowhere to be found. There are even lands in the highlands held by companies in tax havens in the Caribbean, or wealthy landowners in London and around the world, while those of us who live here endure run-down properties and poor crofting lands and even where there is interest in investment or development, anything not to the liking of the Landlord gets vetoed or mysteriously tied up in endless administrative problems. Like many places in the highlands we have seen family after family leave due to poor prospects for their youngsters, or for better opportunities in Glasgow and London continuing the horrors of the Clearances and the work of The Butcher, stories that too many of us gathered here carry with us.”

  


A round of muttered ayes was interspersed with a few muttered curses about the Duke of Cumberland's war crimes against local populations in the wake of the Jacobite rebellion of 1745. Claire was only vaguely familiar with some of the issues that Janet Fraser was raising, but it was clear that she was striking a chord with many of those who sat in the room tonight.

  


“What I propose to you tonight is that enough is enough. I am suggesting that we, as a community take back control through a community land buyout of the Lallybroch Estate.”

  


There was a long moment of stunned silence and then applause rippled through the room. It wasn't just applause, it was cheering and whistling and shouts of support rang out from around the hall while Jamie Fraser looked at his sister with a warm twinkle in his eye and the curve of a smile touching the corner of his mouth.

  


Clare let out a sigh as she realised her job had just gotten all the more complicated. Yet Claire could not deny that Janet's argument was a compelling one. For those who lived here their experiences of the estate were hardly universally positive. While it provided much needed jobs and income, much of the management of it was done through through third parties who implemented the will of the landlord while those who live here endured run-down properties, regular flooding in the town and a lack of opportunities for their children which combined with the bureaucrasy of almost every aspect of their lives made it an inattractive prospect for young folks settling down or staying. On stage Janet began to list some of the many problems she hoped the community buyout would give the locals the opportunity to address. Claire tried to think of her drive through the estate earlier that day and wondered at Jamie Fraser standing there so quietly when he, apparently, was in charge of much of it all.

  


“We all know, those of us who have lived here all our lives, the way that increasingly high numbers of deer for stalking have prevented the growth of trees up the hillsides and the way in turn that this has has affected flooding in the town.” Janet continued, to the agreement of the room where people muttered that their businesses had been flooded or homes evacuated while the floodwaters lapped at the wall of the sandbags they had to build along the river bank every time the floodwaters rose. The need to invest in tourism and infrastructure, in the local economy and diversify business opportunities in the area. High speed broadband. Affordable housing. The list went on.

  


“My brother has been eager for some time to modernise the running of the estate, to increase the biodiversity on the estate, to make it more about the experience for the visitors and not the kill count. To build on the conservation work being done in other places where estates are managed differently. To look for new opportunities, new jobs, better prospects. No more run down properties and orders from on high that fly in the face of anything the folks as live here actually want.”

  


Claire listened as Janet Fraser explained how they could apply for grants and fundraise to improve the housing stock as well as local accomodation for visitors and tourists. This was the opportunity, Janet insisted, for them to take charge of their own destiny.

  


The woman had clearly done her homework.

  


Next the second man in the estate dress stepped up, talking about potential economics of the buy out, citing a renewable electricity network on Eigg and a community wind farm in the Inner Hebrides that had brought in a steady income stream for the local community. The opportunity for European forestry grants and the growing interest in traditional crafts. Tourism, economics, biodiversity and, hopefully, attracting more people to live in the area and keep the school and the local economy afloat. Going by his wedding band and the body language he displayed towards Janet's sister, Claire supposed he might very well be Janet's husband and clearly someone who knew his way around the rural economy.

  


As someone who had had to google footrot the first time she heart it mentioned, Claire admitted to herself she actually felt rather intimidated by the depth of knowledge on display. After speaking, Ian opened it up to the room and one person after another raised concerns or spoke out in support.

  


It also made clear to Claire that the faith of those gathered here was not so much in the Community Land Buyout process but in those proposing to lead it and with the collective might of the Fraser family behind it, Claire surmised that any buyout attempt might do very well indeed.

  


That would be a problem for Charles Stuart.

  


In the end, however, Claire was aware that such ventures often hinged on whatever political will there was amongst the Scottish Government and MSP's and at the Scottish Parliament in Edinburgh. The question Claire knew she would have to put to Geilis Duncan was how much did Charles Stuart want the place? A buyout on this scale, if it gained political support, would make major headlines. As would a local community at loggerheads with an international property magnate if Charles Stuart wanted it enough to fight them on the matter.

  


Finally, Jamie himself spoke, laying out the process of the buyout. The creation of a community body, the need for support from those who lived in the immediate postcodes, the clipboard that was making its way around the room, asking people to sign it.

 

As it was, any successful application for a community buy-out would immediately halt a sale to any other party and the buyout proposal, if acceptable to the authorities, would get first refusal on the property if the community could raise the asking price.

  


The asking price of Lallybroch was millions, Claire knew that. A phenomenal sum of money. But as she saw one local after another come up to the stage to speak, to add their thoughts to the weight of the plans, Claire couldn't help but feel a certain sense of the hand of fate at work here and, when she thought of what she knew of Charles Stuart, a deep sense of foreboding.

  


Claire retreated to her Bed & Breakfast for the night, rising early the following morning to another of Mrs Baird's freshly made breakfasts. It seemed the local food and the fresh air agreed with Claire, she felt bright and fresh and drank in the scenery and the atmosphere of the highlands as she waited, dressed in her best country casuals to meet Ned Gowan.

  


As she stood on the pavement outside the Bed & Breakfast, Claire Beauchamp looked down at her phone with a sense of disappointment as the one bar that had flickered to life a moment ago disappeared again. She didn't have time now to take a way down the river and the signal anywhere around here was mercurial and fleeting anyway.

  


Perhaps Ned would know somewhere round about that had a good phone signal? The day was cool and damp with a grey tinge to the air, but Claire waited patiently and before long Ned Gowan pulled up by the kerb and greeted her with a smile.

  


“Good morning, Ms Beauchamp.”

  


Claire could not help but notice there was a slight spring in his step as he came out to greet her. Doubtless like everyone else for miles around he had been at the meeting last night.

  


“I spoke to Dougal Mackenzie, the Ghillie of Lallybroch last night and he said he or one of his men would be happy to give you a more detailed around the estate today.”

  


“You spoke to Dougal Mackenzie last night?” Claire asked mildly. She tried to remember if she had seen his face at the meeting, but there had been a lot of people there and it was a lively meeting and her inability to recall his presence there – or Mister Gowan's – didn't necessarily mean that either or both of them hadn't attended, Claire realised.

  


Ned Gowan paused for a moment and then inclined his head. “Quite so. Ms Beauchamp, but I'm afraid I have to attend to another matter today at Lallybroch and I while it means I shall be unable to accompany you on your tour I can give you a lift up that way, if you would like?”

  


“Oh, well that's very kind of you Mister Gowan but there is the small matter of getting back again.”

  


Ned Gowan's eyes took on a new hue now, twinkling with amusement. “Oh, I shouldn't think you'd need to worry about that. Since you've already met, you'll know there's not a more gentlemanlike chap in the highlands than Jamie Fraser.”

  


Claire paused for a moment, considered the endurance test of sitting in the passenger seat the day before and tried to find a way to politely decline. “Well, that's very kind of you, Mister Gowan, but I think i'll take my own car, if it's all the same. Just in case, you understand? Of course you're welcome to share.”

  


“Well then, why not. If it's no inconvenience I would be very much obliged, Ms Beauchamp. I can always beg a ride back with Dougal or Mrs Fitz.”

  


And so it was that Claire found herself with a talkative lawyer sitting in her passenger seat, regaling her with one local story after another for the short few miles up to Lallybroch. During a pause in the proceedings Claire found cause to politely interrupt him. “While you're here, Mister Gowan, I don't suppose you know where I could find a phone signal?”  
  


“Oh, a mobile telephone? I'm afraid I've never thought it much worth the bother, here, but I'm sure Jamie .will know. I have heard it said you can usually get a couple of bars or so if you climb up on top of the wall on the drive up to Lallybroch.”  
  


“You must be joking?”

  


“I'm afraid not, Ms Beauchamp. They keep promising it's going to get better. Lets be honest though, phone signals are something like the northern lights round here. You never know when it's going to appear and no sooner do you spot it than it's gone again. Now, are you sure you're quite alright for clothes? It will be cold out on the muir today.”

  


A day on the estate would of course require the appropriate clothing and Claire had prepared everything she could think of the night before alongside her notes from the day before and her phone. She would need to call Geilis Duncan as soon as may be and inform her about the prospective community buy-out, but apparently that wasn't going to be for a little while yet.

  


The drive up to Lallybroch was now more familiar than it had been on her first visit. The drive with its fine stone estate wall and the mature trees surrounding the grand old house seemed in stark contrast with the empty desolation of the moor that stretched for miles around beyond the boundary of the house's private grounds.

  


On the way north Claire had passed multiple wind farms scattered over distant hillsides and noted the absence of them here. She wondered if that was significant until she recalled Charles Stuart's strong opposition to renewable energy and his vast investments in oil and gas.

  


It was a clear, dry day, milder than the day before and the gravel crunched in a familiar manner as she pulled up in the small car park at the side of Lallybroch house. The sound of her car arriving must have woken the dogs for no sooner did her car door open than two of the great beasts came lurching forwards towards her, only to be called back by a sharp voice. A man appeared, dressed in the estate uniform of a kilt in muted hues with a tweed Argyll jacket and waistcoast to match. The man seemed slightly familiar to Claire and she realised she had seen him the night before at the Village Hall.

  


The dogs, trained as they were, immediately halted where they were and obeyed the man's commands though one whined slightly at having to do so. The man came forwards with a warm handshake and greeted them both.

  


“Ned, good to see you as always. And you must be Ms Beauchamp. Ian Murray, Assistant Ghillie. Welcome to Lallybroch Estate.”

* * *

  


Music rec: The Butterfly/Duncan the Gauger/Jig o’ Beer set by Session A9 from the album Bottlenecks and Arm-Breakers 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s38 Land Reform (Scotland) Act 2003 quoted from legislation.gov.uk (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/asp/2003/2/section/38). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/)


	8. Chapter 8

_Game Act 1831_

_"S2 What shall be deemed Game._

_The word “game” shall for all the purposes of this Act be deemed to include hares, pheasants, partridges, grouse, heath or moor game, black game; and the words “lord of a manor, lordship, or royalty, or reputed manor, lordship, or royalty,” shall throughout this Act be deemed to include a lady of the same respectively."_

 

Chapter 8

Claire took the hand and shook and accepted Ian's invitation to come around the back to the offices where Jamie was working his way through the reams of paperwork running an estate now required. The back yard gave access to the wartime extention that was now used to house the estate offices as well as the door to the back kitchen and what looked like a slightly neglected walled kitchen garden. Claire could only glimpse it through the open doorway but was intrigued enough to make a mental note to explore it more later.

As for now she put her best professional foot forwards and tried not to blush as she remembered being pressed up against his warm body for the ride from her car. Ian knocked at the open doorway and Jamie looked up, startled. He was wearing the same Estate uniform, his arm still bound up in the cloth sling she had set it in two days before. Jamie stared at her for a long moment and then slowly nodded. “You came up here to look at a property for a client,” Jamie said at length, staring at Claire in a way that went right through to her soul, a mixture of anger, exasperation and amusement flickering through his gaze. At length Jamie snorted and then rolled his eyes heavenward. “Of course!”

“Ms Beauchamp said you two know each other – in a manner of speaking,” Ned Gowan put forth.

Jamie Fraser's eyes flitted to Ned briefly. “Aye, Ned. In a manner of speaking. You'll be the agent sent up by Geilis Duncan, then?” Jamie looked to Claire.

“I am,” Claire confirmed.

A look passed from Jamie to Ian to Ned that Claire could not fail to notice before Jamie got up and invited Claire to accompany him. “Ian, I'll show our visitor around if you wouldn't mind seeing to that wee bit of business with Ned,” Jamie waved a hand at the table where Claire could see some scribbled notes in the most appalling handwriting she had ever seen. She could however, just about make out the capital letters, 'FEASIBILITY STUDY' near the top. Claire couldn't fail to notice the ink stains marring the gamekeeper's left hand fingertips and could guess, then, at the author of the note.

“Ms Beauchamp, if you'd come this way please?” Jamie Fraser was out the door before she could say another word. Claire glanced briefly to Ian, who attempted some sort of non-verbal reassurance and then jerked his head forward in what passed for an encouraging nod.

“You'll be fine, lass.” Ian insisted.

Claire did step out the door then and wasn't even out of earshot when Ian turned to Ned and asked, “What was all that about?”

Ned Gowan paused a moment, perhaps wondering if Claire could still hear as she walked across the yard. “My guess is that Claire Beauchamp would be the Sassenach who nearly ran Jamie over the other day...”

The warm rumble of Ian's Murray's laughter as he walked away with Ned Gowan led Claire to believe he meant well. It didn't make her feel any less conspicuous, especially as someone who was winging it through all of this more than she hoped ever to let on. She had almost no experience with highland estates due to her entire portfolio being located in the lowlands. Reading up on reports and policies was one thing, but it was clear the longer she stayed here that highland estates were a very different kettle of fish to what she was used to.

Out in the yard Jamie Fraser walked a few steps ahead, his long strides ardently eating up ground before he appeared to pause, gather himself and then look back on his visitor.

“My apologies, Ms Beauchamp. I mean no discourtesy towards you. You took me somewhat unawares.”

“I had no intention to deceive you, Mister Fraser.”

Jamie made a sort of noise but made no other response and then half turned towards the house where Ned Gowan could be seen standing inside the window of what Claire supposed to be the staff room she had seen on her first arrival. Claire glanced at Ned who nodded courteously and made a show of doffing an invisible bonnet through the window. “I suppose you'll be wanting to look around the Big House?” Jamie asked.

“If that's agreeable, yes.”

“I'll speak to Mrs Fitz. She's probably of more use there than I could be but while the weather's fine I thought I'd take you out on the hill, show you what the estate's got to offer. The shooting and suchlike. I take it you're here to see the sporting side of the estate?”

“That is within my remit, yes,” Claire hedged.

Jamie nodded curtly. “Aye, well, the stables are this way.”

“Stables?”

“If ye want to look around,” Jaime waved vaguely at the adjacent area, “There's time enough for that while I saddle the ponies. I took it from your manner yesterday that you can ride?”

“A little. I learned to ride as a child but I have to confess that I'm rather out of practice.”

“No matter,” Jamie grunted. “The ponies aren't exactly known for their turn of speed.”

The stables were housed in an old stone-built outhouse that had clearly been used for that purpose since the time they were built. Where in more urban areas such buildings were often regenerated and turned into housing, the mews at Lallybroch were still used for their original purpose with worn flagstone floors that a stable hand was sweeping out, a tack room and a hay loft. Jamie gave her the tour, taking pains to point out it's many detrimental features. The drainage wasn't up to modern standards, the roans needed replacing and the roof was rather leaky in patches, as the strategically placed plastic buckets bore witness. The energy rating was likely to be low as well, as old buildings so often were, which would affect the selling price, but Claire rebutted Jamie's eager list of downsides by pointing out that if you had the money to deal with it as Charles Stuart had, the financial costs of renovation were usually of a lower priority than was the case for the average purchaser.

Jamie caught the raised eyebrows Claire directed at him and stopped.

Claire bit back a smirk in response that Jamie caught.

“I'm no being very subtle am I?”

“I'm just here to do my job, Mister Fraser. I confess, if I was in your position I'm not sure I'd be too happy about someone buying the estate either but at the end of the day it's not up to me.”

“But it might be up to your report.” Jamie couldn't help but point out.

“Indeed it might,” Claire agreed without backing down.

“Aye, well,” Jamie waved a hand at the horses. “If you've had your fill I'll get on wi' seeing tae the ponies.”

Jamie picked out his own black stallion, Trom Laighe, who was kept near the geldings in a separate area to the mares. Jamie explained the black stallion was used for breeding but still benefited from regular handling. “People dinnae handle the stallions cause o' their reputation and then they wonder why they're all cantakerous bastards that dinnae like folks.” Jamie shook his head. “Aye, he's got a thing for the ladies so I cannae give you a mare. I thought I'd give you the gelding, Ruarhi, here. He can be a bit of a lazy arse but give him a kick and he gets the picture soon enough.”

Claire wasn't sure what to think about that but she watched Jamie tie up the halter of each of the horses and fetch their tack. Claire had a small notebook with her and took a few notes about the state of various aspects of the property as she had seen it so far but all the time out of the corner of her eye she watched the Deputy Ghillie go about his work. Speaking soft gaelic to the horses, Claire imagined him explaining what he was doing and was sometimes received with a soft whuffle or a nose. Even the stallion seemed to like him and Claire realised it was the same horse they had ridden yesterday. A faint blush came to her cheeks as she remembered that ride. Well, the whole encounter on the road had been a bit of a shock but a tiny part of of her hadn't minded at all being pressed up against Mister Jamie Fraser over there.

Fortunately for Claire while not exactly wearing riding gear she was wearing heeled boots that were soon joined by a borrowed safety vest and helmet and she thanked Jamie when he offered her a leg up onto Ruarhi. He gave her a few pointers, checked her position and hold on the reins and then led them off. As they made their way out of the stable yard, Claire couldn't help but notice a stern looking older man in the same estate kilt watching them from outside the kitchen doorway across the way.

“Another employee, I take it?” Claire asked with curiosity.

“That'd be Dougal Mackenzie.” Jamie said curtly. “The Ghillie proper.”

“Oh? Perhaps I should go an introduce myself,” Claire looked from Jamie to Dougal's stern face and then back again. “Or...perhaps not.” She reassessed. “Out of curiosity Mister Fraser, where are we going? And why on horseback? I looked at the estate by car yesterday, after all. I can see you have quiet a variety of outdoor pursuits on offer.”

“Aye, well, Ned said you're supposed to be looking at what it is your client would be buying and, well, there's whole tracts of the estate have naught but drovers tracks and pony trails. I take it you'll no have much experience with Highland Estates, then?”

“Not highland estates, as such. More lowlands, borders...”

“Wheat and potatoes? The odd sheep too, I presume?” Jamie shook his head, knowing full well that for all he felt drawn to this woman, she was just the latest incarnation of lowland and English land managers who had done so much harm to the highlands down the centuries. And from what he'd just heard he had absolutely no reason to give her the benefit of the doubt, no matter how much he might find himself drawn to her.

“I'm a fast learner, Mister Fraser.”

“Why don't you do your job, and I'll do mine, and we'll leave it at that.”

Claire's eyebrows rose at the surly attitude from the man. His moods were about as fleeting as the beams of sunlight through the clouds as they flickered across the hilly landscape. “Fine. Then while we're on the subject of doing our jobs, Ned did mention you might be able to find me a phone signal.”

Jamie smirked, “Oh, he did, did he? Aye, well, I suppose since you asked so nicely. You can usually get a bar or two if you head up this way for half an hour.” And with no more fuss, they set off out the back of Lallybroch and up into the heather hills.

 

When they got to the place Claire quite honestly couldn't tell it apart from any other patch of barren heather, although granted the ground was a little higher than the surrounding area. Yet sure enough, a steady two bars appeared on her signal and Jamie obligingly made himself scarce so that Claire could make a phonecall to Geilis Duncan.

The phone rang for a while as Claire paced back and forth on the hilltop while Jamie stood with the horses a little way off near a patch of old Scots pine.

“Claire!”

Geilis Duncan's happy voice came chiming down the line in a manner that seemed to jarr, somewhat, with the quiet softness of the natural world around them and the muffled silence of the hill with only the wind and a few stray birds for company. “What good timing you have, I was just about to go into a conference call with our illustrious client. Would you like to join us?”

“Oh, no, I couldn't possibly!”

“Don't tell me you're changing your mind, Claire. I know what a valuable piece of business this will be for you when it all works out.”

Claire couldn't deny that of course that was the case and she would be an idiot if she didn't appreciate what Geilis Duncan's favour was throwing her way but somewhere in her mind a niggle of doubt worried at her. Why WAS Geilis Duncan so keen to hand over the estate management to a firm with so little experience of working in this part of the country? Jamie's shock and scepticism at her position had shown in his eyes and the bureaucrasy of the existing management regime was clear from the volumes of paperwork on his desk. You would have to know it inside out to stay on top of all that.

“Geilis, listen to me...”

“Just one moment, Claire, I think that's him being put through now.”

Claire was hushed into silence as the gratingly loud voice of their wealthy client echoed over the line. A well known property magnate, Charles Stuart had hotels in New York and London as well as an English championship football team in his portfolio and a number of other investments including tourist resorts. Claire had had it impressed upon her by Geilis how eager Mister Stuart was to acquire a traditional highland estate, preferably somewhere with Jacobite links, on account of his ancestry. Claire suffered through his loud, brash greetings and his boasts about the exploits of his Scottish ancestors.

“My ancestors were Scottish, you know!”

“Yes, Mister Stuart.” Claire wondered how long this was going to go on for. It was rapidly becoming one of the most excruciating business meetings of her life and she hadn't even delivered the news yet. She glanced over at Jamie Fraser who was doing a bad job of pretending he wasn't eavesdropping on every word that boomed down the line. So much for keeping the identity of her client under the radar.

“I'm sure you know how eager I am to acquire the property as quickly as possible. Do you think it looks good?”

“Well I've only had a preliminary look, Mister Stuart, but at first glance it appears to be a traditionally run Highland hunting estates with a focus on game hunting for deer and some grouse.”

“Plenty of game to shoot at though, right?”

“I'm going to have a closer look today as it happens,” Claire informed him. “Although I should probably mention that from what I can see the estate house itself may be a little smaller than you were looking for. I'm going to speak to the housekeeper to arrange a proper tour later.”

“Oh don't worry about the house, we can expand that. I'm bringing in architects, great architects, huge budget.”

“I believe it is a listed building, Mister Stuart,” Claire hedged.

Geilis Duncan shushed her and put on a polite laugh to cover the awkwardness. “Mister Stuart has instructed me to inform you that he is happy to make whatever investment is required to bring the estate up to standard. The game however, is the most important thing. Being the reason, after all, for Mister Stuart's interest.”

“I'm very eager to get out hunting there as soon as I can and I want to bring my son. My son's target practice is so good...”

After a long aside about the merits of Charles Stuart Junior's prowess at target practice, Claire finally decided that in fact there was going to be no good moment and so made up her mind to just come out with it. “Mister Stuart, before you make any further plans I feel obliged to inform you that the community are strongly considering an application under Community Right To Buy legislation.”

“What does that mean?”

Geilis Duncan took in a sharp breath. “Claire? When did this happen?”

“I promise you I only just found out or I would have mentioned it sooner,” Claire insisted.

On the other end of the line Charles Stuart harumphed impatiently. “What does that mean? I don't know what that means!?”

Geilis Duncan cleared her throat. “It means, Mister Stuart, that the community are considering applying to buy the estate themselves. It is a rather bureaucratic process but the way the law works at the moment, if they decide to put together a bid and that bid is accepted by the authorities then the community will get first refusal over any other purchaser, as long as they pay the asking price.”

“But it's a bids-over system right? I'll just bid more!” Charles Stuart laughed as if this happened ever day, nothing to worry about.

“I'm afraid it doesn't work like that with community land buy-outs, Mister Stuart. But that's not to say that they will be successful in putting together a bid in the first place. As I said it's a very bureaucratic process. They will need to form community organisations, gain political will, fundraise, raise the profile of the endeavour...”

“Ah, well leave it to me, then. I'll speak to a few politicians. I have connections. I'm someone of standing, as I'm sure you can appreciate. I'm really very wealthy, and my ancestors were Scottish.”

In the background Jamie Fraser snorted, more or less giving up the pretence that he wasn't listening in to the conversation.

Claire was beginning to see that that particular trope about Scottish ancestry didn't have nearly so much pull here amongst the locals as those who liked boasting about it liked to think it did.

* * *

 

Music rec: Why? by Martyn Bennett from the album GRIT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s2 Game Act 1831 quoted from legislation.gov.uk (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/Will4/1-2/32/section/2). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a not-neutral chapter with exposition, in which we get some insights into what Jamie thinks of his job. Thank you to my friend Womble for giving it a wee read.

_"In recent years, there has been an increased understanding of the role that the natural environment plays in underpinning Scotland’s economic growth, by providing natural resources, as well as supporting its international environmental reputation. ‘Scotland’s Biodiversity - a Route Map to 2020’ was developed in 2014 and sets out clear ambitions to deliver substantial improvements to the natural enviroment by 2020. These include a particular focus on restoration of peatlands and native woodland, creation of new native woodland and and ensuring protected areas are in good condition. Heavy grazing by deer and other herbivores is recognised as one of the key pressures on biodiversity. There is also a growing realisation of the role herbivore management can play in protecting watersheds and riverbanks to reduce downstream flooding risks."_

 

p 101, Deer Management in Scotland: Report to the Scottish Government from Scottish Natural Heritage 2016 ([x](http://www.snh.org.uk/pdfs/publications/corporate/DeerManReview2016.pdf))

 

 

**Chapter 9**

 

Before long the phonecall wrapped up, with Claire under instructions from Geilis to continue looking around the estate today and put together a summary to be emailed tonight about her own findings compared with the official description as it was put on the market. Marketing guides always made things out to be rosier than they were. Already there was a list in her head of the masonry work needing done around the stable and yard, iron work on the gates. The roof of the stable and the main house both looked like they were in need of repair and that was without getting to the crofts which she had yet to inspect in any significant way. Jamie offered her a leg up again but Claire was gaining confidence with stubborn wee Ruarhi and she was quickly realising all he needed was a firm hand to boss him around and he usually did what he was told, albeit under protest.

 

“You know about the community buy out,” Jamie stated after they got going. It wasn't a question.

 

“I over heard Mrs Baird mention it,” Claire confirmed. “It was an open meeting, Mister Fraser.”

 

“Aye, it was as that,” Jamie acknowledged but said no more.

 

There were a lot of undercurrents to this man, she felt, things he wasn't saying and Claire couldn't help the feeling that there was rather a lot that was passing her by here. Layers of history and unseen things.

 

They rode for a while over the moor, surprising a few grouse at one point. The birds made an odd little noise, like protesting goblins and when it happened again a little while later Claire complimented Jamie on the good number of grouse.

 

“It's kind of you to say so. The truth is, we don't get the bags we used to, though fortunately for us they're not the be all and end all of the estate. That's not to say they're unimportant but...”

 

“No, I understand. Ned said you offer a variety of pursuits. Deer, ptarmigan...and trout and salmon fishing as well?”

 

“Aye, though there's few nutcases daft enough to go stalk a ptarmigan. You'd often easier find a haggis in these hills. I can't imagine Charles Stuart will be out hunting the wee so-and-so's very often. Slippery wee buggers.”

 

Claire had lived in Scotland long enough to smile at the gradual increase in casual swearing that indicated a Scot at ease. Watching her companion, Claire thought he looked more relaxed the longer they spent out on the moor. In the short time they had already been out here Jamie Fraser already looked at one with the sky, the landscape and the quiet peace; the fresh air and the scenery and the work. Yes, Jamie Fraser seemed better suited to life out here on the hill than down in the tense atmosphere of the Big House. Claire wondered at that, at the tense atmosphere she had picked up between Jamie and this Dougal Mackenzie who had been curiously absent considering he was the most senior employee on the estate.

 

“So you've never been in charge of a game estate, then?” Jamie asked eventually. Claire could only guess he must have been ruminating on this thought for some time.

 

“No, I can't say I have.”

 

“And do you know how a game estate works?” Jamie slowly turned his head at look at her, eyebrows raised in a way that drew attention to his startlingly blue eyes.

 

Claire told herself to stop it and gathered her professional decorum, “In a manner of speaking.”

 

“Geilis Duncan explained all about Lallybroch, did she?” Jamie pressed. “Our game numbers, kill counts, grouse bags, deer management plans...”

 

Claire sighed heavily. “What exactly are you getting at, Mister Fraser?”

 

“You've been sent here to play the fool, Claire Beauchamp.”

 

“I doubt that very much,” Claire protested. “It's a business opportunity.”

 

“Bullshit! They sent someone who knows as little as possible because Geilis Duncan knows quite well how Charles Stuart's purchase of this estate will go down and it's easier if she has some plausible deniability. Someone who knows nothing about game, nothing about renewables, nothing about land reform or arguments over development. Someone who won't ask awkward questions or stir up opposition. You see a house and some land. You say, 'it has grouse and deer, roof needs done up' and that's that and they get to say they made a personal inspection of the property.” Jamie tutted in contempt and shook his head. He paused on that thought for a moment and then resumed, more quietly. “I took you for many things when you got here, Claire Beauchamp, but a mug wasn't one of them.”

 

“Careful, Mister Fraser, that was very nearly a compliment.”

 

“Why did you lie to her?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Geilis Duncan,” Jamie said.

 

“I didn't lie to her.”

 

“You told her you'd only just found out about the community land buyout. You found out last night, you could have emailed her straight away but you didn't. You could have phoned her from Mrs Baird's or gone down to the river and gotten a signal there and you didn't. Well, I can tell you one thing, Ms Beauchamp, Geilis Duncan doesn't like to be taken for a ride.”

 

“You speak as if you know her,” Claire prodded but Jamie did not respond, only continuing to gently urge his pony stallion along and pressing his lips together in stony silence.

 

The rode for some time over increasingly barren muir, the lead grey sky overhead threatening occasional downpours but never coming to anything. From time to time a shaft of sunlight broke through and danced over the amber-red hillsides round them with their intermittent patches of heather and short grass.

 

“Alright then, what is that's so important that you think I need to know?”

 

“I spoke out of turn,” Jamie responded curtly. “I apologise.”

 

Claire frowned at this. “If you're worried about speaking out against your employer, only last night you were standing up in front of the whole town criticising the management of Lallybroch.”

 

“I was there in a personal capacity, though, wasn't I? And Ian was there and my sister and many others.”

 

“But not Dougal Mackenzie that I noticed, am I right?”

 

Jamie paused for a moment, staring off into the distance before responding. “No, he wasn't there that I saw.” Jamie sighed heavily. “Everyone round here knows the estate has been struggling to keep it's head above water for years but to get you to understand what is going on here, Ms Beauchamp, you would need to know how a sporting estate works.”

 

“Why don't you start with telling me about your job, then. From your point of view, given that we might be working together in the future it might be useful.”

 

Jamie looked around at her mention of them working together and seemed to relent a little, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he gave the question some thought. “You know all about growing wheat and barley. Well, the game keeper's job is a simple one, really. Our job is to grow game. Deer, grouse, fish, anything the clients want to come here to pay to kill. Our job is to do everything we can to create a surplus of game that can be shot for sport and still allow enough to reproduce in the next breeding season.”

 

“But the yields aren't what they used to be, isn't that what you said before? Any farmer knows that if you grow the exact same crop in the exact same field year after year you'll get diminishing annual returns. You think they're hoping I won't notice, won't you? That I don't know what I'm talking about and so it will be sold as a game estate as things stay as they are?”

 

Jamie smirked and shook his head, “Honestly, I'm not sure what to think anymore.”

 

“I confess, I thought there'd be more sheep.”

 

Jamie looked around. “Used to be. Time was they cleared the people out of places like this to make way for them but nowadays Scotland can't compete with New Zealand and Australia for lamb and most of the breeds that are popular up here their coats are too rough to get good prices on wool. You couldn't give the stuff away some years.”

 

“I can't imagine the cost of a vet call-out up here helps all that much. Even in the lowlands the cost of a call out is often more than the sheep's worth.”

 

“Aye, well, in recent years a lot of folks are deciding it's just not worth it. There's still sheep but not as many as there used to be. As for the grouse, it doesn't get any easier, that's for sure and even the deer,” Jamie paused and then pointed off into the distance. In the distance, across a small mountain pass, the hillside of another mountain was scarred with deep welts of erosion where mud and scree had slid down the mountain side creating great scars on the shoulder and unstable ground below. Once it had been pointed out to her, Claire began to see it all around. Unstable hillsides, scarred and falling apart. “Overgrazing.” Jamie stated. “When there were cattle on these hills, they spent the summers on the tops and the winters in the glens. The ground to rested and they'll eat almost anything. They'll eat the good grass, aye, but they'll eat the poor grasses too and weeds and shrubs and all sorts.”

 

“Whereas sheep overgraze on the rich grasses and leave all the poor ones,” Claire pointed out. She looked again at the scars. “I know what sheep grazing looks like, we buy hill ewes to put to lowland tups. That isn't all because of sheep. These hillsides have nothing left but ling heather and deer grass, apart from the odd Scots pine and most of them look a good two hundred years old. Just how many deer do you have at Lallybroch?”

 

“Well, technically they're wild deer, we don’t keep them as such, but we typically have a density of around twenty two deer per square kilometre. That's without considering wild grazing animals, and the sheep and the cattle of the crofters, plus the mountain hares and goats and suchlike.”

 

Claire looked around at the ecological decimation around her and thought it little wonder there was only bare millimetres of vegetation left in some patches and most of that was of rough and poor quality grass, not the rich grasses and varied flora you would expect of a well managed grassland.

 

“The government and their quangos are wanting the numbers down. Help the trees grow and all that. And now the shooting estates are losing tax exemptions as well. Bit by bit the margins get tighter and tighter. Sooner or later something's going to have to give.”

 

“Why are you telling me all this? Surely you'll be out of a job if anyone finds out,” Claire questioned Jamie.

 

Jamie sighed and glanced across at Claire where they rode side by side on their sturdy highland ponies. “Truth is, Ms Beauchamp, I cannae rightly explain it, but for some reason I trust you. If things keep going the way we are, in ten years there might not be a job to lose. Lower numbers of deer, lower numbers of grouse, higher taxes and more intensive land management to try and wring every last penny out of the place. And now this? Men like Charles Stuart don't buy Highland Estates out of concern for our way of life. It's just a toy to them, a play thing. Those of us as live here want to keep living here, with jobs and progress and chances for our young folk.”

 

“You don't approve of the Estate's approach, do you?”

 

Jamie snorted, “That obvious, is it?” He paused, “It's my job. Doesn't mean I have to like it.”

 

Claire wondered about that. Surely if the buyout was successful there was every chance of there not being a gamekeepers job at the other end of that either but she decided not to play devil’s advocate on this one. Things were complicated enough already and Jamie seemed to know things she didn't.

 

They continued out across the muir for several miles, Jamie pointing things out as they went. Grit bins. The patchwork of heather from muirburn. Unwanted blanket bog. One thing after another made Claire realise just how much she didn't know. Plants were her thing, really. Animals had never been her strong point but she was beginning to think that this man was quite the opposite and while they were technically on different sides here, he had treated her with respect in a way that Claire appreciated. With a hint of reluctance, Claire allowed herself to bow to the inevitable.

 

When they stopped at a grouse shooting butt to rest the horses, Claire sat down staring out at the incredible views and Jamie Fraser produced a whisky flask from an inside pocket. Feeling slightly naughty, Claire accepted the offered drink and took a sip as he sat down beside her.

 

“Alright, Jamie Fraser,” Claire sighed at the burn in her throat. “Mansplain me a grouse moor.”

 

“Oh, mansplaining is it?” Jamie laughed.

 

“You say the grouse numbers are going down?”

 

“Year by year, the surplus is in a slow but steady decline. The estates would rather folks didn't know it, didn't draw attention to it.”

 

“Whyever not?”

 

“Too much invested in it,” Jamie moved his head, one of those small adjustments he seemed to exhibit when he was thinking hard about something or deciding what to say and how to say it. “This whole landscape, everything you see, Sassenach, do you think it was always like this? Always looked like this? First, after Culloden, they crushed the power of the clans and they tempted their leaders with money and power. They forced them to send their sons for an English education that broke the link between the people and their leaders and then the Clearances began. English style landlords didn't want cattle and oats and drovers credit for rent, they wanted money for fine houses and fancy living. They hiked the rents and began the squeeze and gradually it led to evictions in one place after another and before you know it, half the population of the highlands was gone and when the people were gone and the cattle droving died and the people were banned from hunting the wild things they had always relied on for their own dinner...then the sheep were brought in and if not sheep, deer. To make a game estate, Sassenach, first you need to make the habitat suit the game. That means eradicating habitat for anything else out here to make more space for ling heather the grouse like and then once you've got the heather sorted you need to eradicate all the other animals that either compete with the game or predate on the game.”

 

“That seems rather extreme,” Claire mused.

“You don’t know the half of it. The Victorians spent much of the nineteenth century eradicating anything that'll go for a grouse across whole swathes of the highlands. Wild cats, golden eagles, red kites, buzzards, hen harriers, stoats and weasels, pine martins, foxes, owls, otters, crows, ravens, the list goes on. Wolves were hunted to extinction three hundred years ago, bears and lynx and beavers before that. These days there's more legal constraints of course, but vermin control is still a key part of a gamekeeper's job and it doesn't stop there. When you've got your heather sorted and your predators sorted, then the next problem is to eradicate anything that'll compete with a grouse, bearing in mind grouse habitat is – if you've done your job right – the only habitat up here apart from grazing for the deer. Mountain hares, for example eat the heather, and they carry diseases so we cull them. First the people, then the plants, then the animals and then when you've done all that work the grouse only go and start getting sick, so you have to medicate them to stop them getting sick and that, Claire Beauchamp, is how you get yourself a surplus and then it’s sporting time. There's a whole line of these butts across this hill here and local lads or whoever can be found is paid a pittance to stand in a line and scare the grouse towards the butts for rich folks to shoot at. Lead shot is still preferred and legal so after destroying habitats, and culling wildlife, and medicating the wee fuckers up to the eyeballs we fill them with lead and send it to restaurants for people to eat. Not that you’ll have your shortage of sucking up to rich twats in your job either, I’d imagine.”

 

“God, I hadn't thought about the lead,” Claire exclaimed, “Even in the lowlands farmers shoot pheasants with lead shot all the time. Why have I never thought about the lead?”

 

“Aye, it's funny what they mention and what they don't mention, isn't it?”

 

“But altering the entire eco-system on that scale must cost a fortune!”

 

“You're not wrong. It costs a lot of money to do all of that, to employ a team of men to work day in and day out keeping thousands of acres across the estates artificially high in grouse and deer numbers. So the estate brings in money by charging people a lot for the privilege. It costs thousands of pounds a head for a single day’s shooting up here. Makes it a very elite 'sport' when that's the entry fee – and you thought going on a cruise was expensive. Clients who pay to come here to shoot the animals the locals are banned from hunting have more money than most people who live here have seen in their lives...” Jamie tailed off and clipped a sprig off the nearest bush of heather, toying with it in his hand. “My family were stewards of this land for a thousand years before The Rising, did you know that? A thousand years. And after all the history and tragedy and heartbreak that brought us to the point where the sporting estates were even possible...after everything that was done to make this place as it is now...after all the death and the slaughter and the trees gone and the animals gone and the townships gone and the village always flooding...after all of it...” Jamie shook his head, “Lallybroch doesnae even make a profit.” Jamie threw away the twig of heather he was playing with and spat on the ground in contempt. “Put that in your report, Sassenach.”

 

Claire's heart fell. Lallybroch was in the red. Quietly, in ways Jamie could have no inkling of, thoughts started linking themselves in her mind. There were reasons why international property magnates might go after properties posting losses and a slow horror began to fill her veins for what it might mean. What it might mean for Jamie and Lallybroch and the village down below and the remnants of a community that had been clinging on here against all the odds and through hardships down the centuries. Silently, Claire handed him the flask. For the briefest of moments their fingers touched and as Jamie turned his head to her a thousand years of heartbreak flashed in Jamie's eyes. Unthinking, Claire reached out a hand to his and clasped it in her own. She felt his larger hand slip into hers, warm and solid and Claire felt herself leaning towards him slightly; shoulder to shoulder.

 

Jamie, clasping Claire's hand tighter in one hand, threw the flask back with the other and took a gulp, enjoying the warming in his throat as the whisky slipped down into his belly. He coughed and then handed it back to Claire and so they sat there enjoying each others company in the shelter of a shooting butt, watching the rain and sunshine move in an endless, quicksilver dance across the desolate, emptied landscape.

  


* * *

 

Music red: An Roghainn Dain Do Eimhir xxii by Julie Fowlis from the album Gach Sgeul - Every Story. (Lyrics by Sorley Maclean).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate that there is a lot of exposition in this chapter so thank you to everyone who is sticking with it. For anyone wondering, lead shot is still legal in the UK and a common choice for lots of shotgun owners. Game birds that are brought down with lead shot are cooked with the shot in them and as anyone who has eaten game knows, in order to avoid ingesting the lead you have to spit it out as you eat it, not counting of course any trace lead that may remain in the meat from the presence of the shot in the first place.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited, rewritten and edited and rewritten again. I dearly hope what I am posting here actually makes sense. I am trying to keep to the update schedule, but I may need to come back to it and read it again when my mind is not a jumble of words so please bear with me if there are errors, typos, etc. and thank you once again for reading and commenting. I read every comment and always love to get your feedback.

### The Sheep Scab (Scotland) Order 2010

### "Interpretation

_2. —(1) In this Order, unless the context otherwise requires—_

_“affected” means affected or suspected of being affected with sheep scab;_

_“carcase” means the carcase of a sheep, and includes part of a carcase and the meat, bones, hide, skin, fleece, wool, hoofs, horns, offal, or other part of a sheep, separately or otherwise, or any portion thereof;_

_“clearance notice” means a notice within the meaning of article 8;_

_“common land” means land grazed in common;_

_“Divisional Veterinary Manager” means the veterinary inspector appointed by the Scottish Ministers to receive information about affected sheep and carcases, for the area in which the sheep or carcases are located;_

_“market” means a market, fairground, sale-yard or other place where sheep are commonly exposed for sale, or any place where sheep are gathered together for the purpose of selection or grading for sale;_

_“place of exhibition” means a place at which exhibitions or shows of sheep are held;_

_“premises” includes any land, building or other place;_

_“sheep scab” means an infestation of psoroptic or sarcoptic mites;_

_“treatment” means treatment with a product for the treatment of sheep scab which may be placed on the market under the Veterinary Medicines Regulations 2009([1](http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ssi/2010/419/article/2/made#f00003)); and “treat” and “treated” are to be construed accordingly; and_

_“veterinary surgeon” means a person registered in the register of veterinary surgeons, or in the supplementary veterinary register, kept under the Veterinary Surgeons Act 1966([2](http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ssi/2010/419/article/2/made#f00004))."_

 

**Chapter 10**

Claire sat, her eyes watching Jamie. A hint of stubble was showing on his cheeks, his red hair blending in with the warm colours of the heather on the hillside. Even his kilt looked like it was of this place and Claire wondered for a moment what plants the ancient weavers of Scotland had used to make the dyes for the colours in their tartans.

After a while, Claire gathered herself and stood up.

Jamie looked up at her, content to lay his eyes on her and observe the way the light highlighted the rich shades of brown in the curls of her hair.

“Come on, soldier,” Claire said with a hint of fondness in her tone.

It seemed to amuse Jamie and there was a flash of leg as he got himself up and straightened his kilt. “Aye, right enough. Best not stop too long or you'll get cold.”

“I'll get cold? Says the man with bare knees,” Claire teased but Jamie only smirked in return and they let the matter rest.

A companionable sort of peace seemed to settle between them now as they mounted Ruarhi and Trom and went on their way again.

 

Looking around now, Claire could begin to see that there was clearly so much more to the estate than she had seen the day before from the car with Ned Gowan yesterday. Out here on horseback away from the roads and with only the horses and Jamie Fraser for company, Claire realised you got a whole new perspective. Below the grouse muir they had ascended to was an area of rough grass where blackfaced ewes were grazing. An old stone cattle fold stood on a flatter area next to a modern metal pen that looked liked it was being prepared for a large operation. A red quad bike was parked in one corner of a distant field where a man in a flat cap with a shephard's crook was whistling instructions to two white and black collies. There was nothing quite like the sight of a young eager border collie running out across the hillside at full tilt to work the sheep.

 

“That’ll be Murtagh,” Jamie explained. “Takes a long time to round up sheep on the uplands and it's nearly dipping time.

In the distance, somewhere up above there was the distinctive piercing cry that drifted on the wind across the hills and when Claire looked up there were two large shapes, pen feathers spread, soaring in lazy circles until they disappeared up into the clouds. Eagles and sheep were often in conflict, many a farmer worried about lambs being taken and yet, Claire could not deny that there was something majestic about the sight of them. “Do you lose many lambs to the eagles?”

“A few, aye. Enough to make them a nuisance and the crofters worry too. Small margins, ye ken? But then we get twitchers coming up to these parts just to look at the things, and that helps the B&B's and the cafe, so what do you do?”

Worrying about lambs being taken by eagles wasn't such a problem in the lowlands, it wasn't even something Claire had had to think about much until now. “Fortunately that's not something I've had to worry too much about in the central belt. It's more buzzards, and they're not big enough to go for the lambs.”

Jamie's lips pressed together as if he was holding himself back from saying something.

Claire's eyebrows knitted together, wondering what was going through his mind. “Alright, out with it.”

“There's reasons why you don't have to deal with eagles, Sassenach.”

“Such as?”

“Well it isn't done to speak of it, but everyone knows there's lots ae grouse muirs are only profitable as long as there's no predators. The southern uplands and even England has its grouse muirs too. Pure grouse muirs. Fewer deer, fewer public lands and fewer bit o' ancient forest. For all the bad press we get up here about Highland Estates you'll find more eagles in our glens than all of the south put together.”

“Well,” Claire cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, I've never condoned raptor persecution, Mister Fraser, and I have no plans to start now.” Looking out at the beauty of the landscape before her, she wondered how she would manage it if she was in charge. Would she defer to Jamie's judgement, and his prejudices? Claire looked over at Jamie, at his attempts at an impassive face. He was terrible at hiding his emotions, it all showed in his eyes.

“And what if Charles Stuart didn't agree?” Jamie challenged.

Claire wondered the same thing herself, but there was no point worrying about it for now. “Lets not put the cart before the horse, Mister Fraser. Now, what are we going to look at next?”

 

As they continued their journey, with the fresh air in her lungs and the wind in her hair Claire wondered that it felt so different to move through this landscape without the glass of the car windows in the way or the throb of an old land rover engine in the background. You saw things that passed you by completely in a motor vehicle. The animals were one thing. As for the flora, Claire had been looking out as she went for some of the plants and flowers she had been hoping to see up here. Marsh orchids perhaps, and bog myrtle, and golden flag irises. Perhaps even some scrub and shrubbish woodland plants. Birch, juniper, and rowan. Alder and old sessile oaks. But there wasn't nearly as much variety as she had hoped. But that was a personal project and Claire reminded herself that she was here for work. They descended down into the glen and Claire asked some questions about the size of their sheep operation.

“You dip for scab?”

“Don't you?”

“I tend to find injections are easier, and safer for the staff as well.”

Jamie made a noise at that but said nothing more as they skirted wide past the area Murtagh was working the blackface ewes and up the next hillside to the ruins of a Sheiling – a summerhouse, Jamie explained, where once upon a time the women would bring the cattle in the summer to the high grazing. There were no cattle here now, but the place afforded a good view down the hillside to a flat, lower-lying area where a large herd of deer were grazing and they once more dismounted and tied the ponies up to the remnants of a windswept tree. As her eye adjusted to the shape of the deer, Claire began to see them more clearly, their brown coats almost hiding them against the hillside until a stag raised his head and his magnificent antlers gave him, for a moment, the look of the famous painting Monarch of the Glen.

“We cannae get any closer what with the rut being on, but we've got them right enough if your man wants to shoot them.”

“I would hardly call Charles Stuart my 'man',” Claire rebutted but Jamie only smiled as if he enjoyed the game. Below them another stag with smaller antlers and fewer points challenged the larger male. The females around them seemed to part and the two males locked antlers, pushing each other back and forth. Battling. After several tense moments of wrestling antlers the challenger limped away with a nasty gash in his flank. “What if he wanted to come here to try out the shooting?”

“Try before you buy? I'm afraid he might be disappointed. We're getting into hind season now. Can't shoot stags again until next summer.”

“I'm not sure Charles Stuart will appreciate being told what he can and cannot shoot on his own land, were he to buy it, Mister Fraser.”

“Aye?” Jamie prodded with a challenge in his eyes. “Whatever he is, he cannae just come here and start pointing guns around, Beauchamp. There's laws about this stuff. It's all regulated. What we shoot and when we shoot it, right down to what sort of guns we're allowed to use. The local landowners cannae agree on the deer management as it is, but most of the estates cull the hinds in the winter for population control.”

 

Claire sighed heavily and then breathed in deeply of the fresh mountain air. “And the deer, do they take as much work as the grouse?”

“Well, the deer live wild, but we help to feed them through the winter. Funny thing is, grouse need all the help they can get to breed enough. With deer, if anything, it's the opposite. They breed and they breed. There's so many of them they graze all the young trees down and the gardens. They eat all the shrubs and trees so there's no shelter out here even though red deer are a woodland species, not that you'd know it from looking at this.”

“Not so many of these down in lowlands, that's for sure. Roe deer, now roe deer are a problem but we have contractors we can use to keep their numbers down.”

“Is that what you do then? Contract everything out. A builder. A stalker. A farmer. Business contacts and corporate profits?”

“Isn't the point of all of this to make a profit? A short while ago you were despairing Lallybroch was in the red.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don't! What is this, if not a business? Alright, you've had it hard. I can see that changes are hard for any community and just like shop workers or factory workers the people on the ground don't always feel they're getting the best end of the deal. I understand that. But what if this is just the natural progression? Lallybroch is an estate, a business, and businesses go under all the time.”

“So, I was wrong about you then? Were you acting all concerned about the locals and giving me all that sympathy for show? If that's all this is, just another business? I thought you were different and here you are talking about businesses and contracts, just like all the rest of them.”

“I do sympathise with your situation, Jamie, but I'm not sure exactly what you expect me to do about it. Lallybroch is a sporting estate. Fine, I'm not the world's foremost expert on the subject but I understand overheads and margins and regulations and profit and loss. It seems to me, while the dynamics are a little different to the Lowlands you've still got all the same financial elements anyone else has to deal with in land management. If Lallybroch isn't a business, what else is it?”

Jamie spluttered, his eyes wide as he stared speechless at her, lost for words. “A community! God dammit, woman! Lallybroch is a home. It's a living, breathing thing and what kills me is, there's different ways of doing things, and I'm pinning my colours to the mast here, because it's the only hope I see for any sort of future in this place, but I needed to know what sort you are. I think I know now, and I'm sorry I ever thought any better of you.”

Hurt flashed in Claire's mind and Jamie was so upset he was shaking from the restraint as he paced back and forth. He turned around, his back to Claire, the fine outline of the curve of his back; slim hips outlined by his kilt against the sky. Jamie was saying something, whispers of it catching her ears that made a lump swell in her throat and her head hang in shame that she had ever doubted what he wanted for this place that he called home. When Jamie had had his moment, he gathered himself to apologise but when he turned to Claire she had an intense, focused expression in her eyes and he let the moment linger between them. Why was it, around this woman, he found his heart so readily wore itself on his sleeve?

“What is that?” Claire asked, curious. The words lingered around them, like a spell woven into the fresh highland air.

“A Man in Assynt,” Jamie's breath was a whisper, “Norman MacCaig.”

“You read poetry?”

“I read a lot of things,” Jamie replied and quietly went back to the ponies, sharing a moment with them before bringing Ruarhi over to Claire for them to continue on their way. As they continued their ascent across the hill her eyes picked their way across the land, noting the lack of any places where more wetland-specialist plants were thriving, Claire thought she spotted lines of gravel where something had recently been dug and filled in. They were in parallel lines, heading downhill.

“You've put in extra drainage in here?”

“Aye, and there's more to come. Only way to keep the water out of the bog. Drain it and burn it. There's not much real bog left anymore.”

“Would you show me what there is?”

Jamie shrugged. “I can show you the untouched section Dougal has plans for me to tackle in the spring if you want.”

“I have a feeling you wouldn't be doing it by choice if you weren't under orders, Mister Fraser,” Claire suggested carefully.

A curious flicker of amusement crossed Jamie Fraser's face and Claire had an odd feeling flutter through her stomach.

“I just do what I'm told,” Jamie said carefully. “Game don't live in the bog, Sassenach. I would have thought Charles Stewart would be interested in doing everything possible to increase the game yields.”

“Yes, well, it might have escaped your notice, Mister Fraser, but I'm not actually Mister Stewart himself. As it happens I have a bit of a personal interest in plants.”

A twinkle glittered in Jamie Fraser's eye all too briefly and then became hidden to her as he turned around and encourage Trom to pick up the pace. As they continued to climb and got out of the shelter of the glen Claire became acutely awareness of the weather, the fresh air, the wind and columns of rain that could be viewed on other hills leading off into the distance. There was the smell of the wet peat, the mottled patchwork of mature and burned heather and the clear human invasion of estate tracks as Jamie pointed out lines of grouse butts and some particularly good spots for getting a shot at a deer depending on the weather and the wind direction and the time of day. Up here the heather was short, the lack of trees or windbreaks causing the wind itself to curtail any growth and the bedrock showed through in places, ancient rock covered in lichens that looked as old as the earth itself.

At length they descended again down to a saddleback formation where the water ran down from the surrounding hills and gathered in a soggy hollow of peat, rushes and sphagnum moss and Claire allowed herself some happy minutes of tramping through finding bilberry, sundew and cotton grass. Claire had always tried to be conservation focused in her land management techniques, although today was proving to be a steep learning curve. She wondered how much of the land up here had once been bog and how much of it had been lost.

“You shouldn't drain this, you know.”

Jamie stared off into the distance for a long moment with an intense expression on his face. She had the impression he knew very well, but Claire was starting to understand that too much of the time Jamie's hands were tied. Was Jamie hoping that she would do better when she was in charge? Or was he showing her all of the problems to discourage Charles Stuart's purchase and promote the Community Buyout?

“Best get on, Sassenach. We've a lot of ground to cover today.”

Claire's heart softened. Jamie Fraser was clearly a passionate man, a man who cared about his family and his community and whose very life was tied up with this place and yet he was a man torn, forced to do the bidding of his employer in a way that ate away at his soul and slowly chipped away at the very viability of the community he loved and knew so well. “Jamie...”

“Don't!” Jamie cut her off sharply.

Back in the saddle, they were silent for a while as Jamie Fraser got down to the business of covering ground to their next destination, a trout stream in the next glen over located in a meandering flood plain with a wide gravel bed and outcrops of trees sparsely dotted in places along the banks. Claire could see a bit of the magic of the place, though her instinct was that a few more trees and a bit less burning on the hillsides might improve the scenery somewhat. It made Claire wonder what he thought of some of the wildlife management issues she was more familiar with. From time to time they spotted the odd hillwaker, but Jamie seemed to go out of his way to avoid coming into their path, apparently knowing their routes like some sort of sixth sense.

The dynamic between them was strained now, the realities of the issues at stake becoming more vivid by the minute and as the morning worked its way towards lunch, Claire began to wonder about the man before her and wanted to know more. Was Jamie really as scientifically minded as she suspected? He seemed to know all about cause and effect, about superstition and science. He was clearly smart and well read. This wasn't some clot-head doing his masters bidding without question but he found himself hemmed in at every side by the land owner, the Ghillie and the system he worked in. A system that was so complicated Claire was starting to question whether she wanted this estate in her portfolio at all.

* * *

 

Music rec: The Dance by Hamish Napier from his album The River (you might need to go to his website to get this one).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Sheep Scob (Scotland) Order 2010 (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ssi/2010/419/article/2/made). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/)
> 
> 2\. The text of the poem Jamie recites can be found here: http://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poetry/poems/man-assynt-extract  
> Norman MacCaig was one the great Scottish poets of the 20th century and an extract of his poem A Many in Assynt is included in the quotations carved into the walls of the Scottish Parliament complex. Please take a moment to go and read it. I would have loved to include the text in the story itself but I haven't asked permission to use it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really touching on the Clearances, at least not for now, but it is worth bearing in mind that the Clearances played a big part in the current pattern of land ownership and land management in the Highlands today and that history informs a lot of the emotions and feelings around not just things that happen now - but they way that they happen.

###  Crofters Holdings (Scotland) Act 1886

###  A crofter shall not be removed except for breach of statutory conditions.

_1\. A crofter shall not be removed from the holding of which he is tenant except in consequence of the breach of one or more of the conditions following (in this Act referred to as statutory conditions), but he shall have no power to assign his tenancy._

_ (1) The crofter shall pay his rent at the terms at which it is due and payable: _

_ (2) The crofter shall not execute any deed purporting to assign his tenancy: _

_ (3) The crofter shall not, to the prejudice of the interest of the landlord, persistently injure the holding by the dilapidation of buildings or, after notice has been given by the landlord to the crofter not to commit, or to desist from, the particular injury specified in such notice, by the deterioration of the soil: _

_ (4) The crofter shall not, without the consent to his landlord in writing, [sublet his holding] or any part thereof, or erect or suffer to be erected thereon any dwelling-house otherwise than in substitution for those already upon the holding at the time of the passing of this Act: _

_ (5) The crofter shall not persistently violate any written condition signed by him for the protection of the interest of the landlord or of neighbouring crofters which is legally applicable to the holding, and which the Crofters Commission shall find to be reasonable: _

_ (6) The crofter shall not do any act whereby he becomes notour bankrupt within the meaning of the Bankruptcy (Scotland) Act, 1856, and the Debtors (Scotland) Act, 1880, and shall not execute a trust deed for behoof of creditors: _

_ (7) The landlord, or any person or persons authorised by him in that behalf (he or they making reasonable compensation for any damage to be done or occasioned thereby), shall have the right to enter upon the holding for any of the purposes following (that is to say): _

  * _Mining or taking minerals, or digging or searching for minerals;_

  * _Quarrying or taking stone, marble, gravel, sand, clay, slate, or other workable mineral;_

  * _Cutting or taking timber or peats, excepting timber and other trees planted by the crofter or his predecessors in the holding, being of the same family, or that may be necessary for ornament or shelter, and excepting also such peats as may be required for the use of the holding;_

  * _Opening or making roads, fences, drains, and water-courses;_

  * _Passing and re-passing to and from the shore of the sea or any loch with or without horses and carriages for exercising any right of property or other right belonging to the landlord;_

  * _Viewing or examining at reasonable times the state of the holding and all buildings or improvements thereon;_

  * _Hunting, shooting, fishing, or taking game or fish, wild birds, or vermin. The word “ game” for the purposes of this subsection means deer, hares, rabbits, pheasants, partridges, quails, landrails, grouse, blackgame, capercailzie, ptarmigan, woodcock, snipe, wild duck, widgeon, and teal;_




_And the crofter shall not obstruct the landlord, or any person or persons authorised by him in that behalf as aforesaid, in the exercise of any right reserved or conferred by this subsection._

_ (8) The crofter shall not on his holding, without the consent of his landlord, open any house for the sale of intoxicating liquors. _

 

 

 

**Chapter 11**

 

 

They moved on, touring the estate. Jamie showed her roads of tarmac, mettled stones roads, hikers routes and deer tracks. There were countless sections of drainage installed to 'improve' the hillside along with grouse butts, gates, styles and footpaths. He showed her sheep fences, folds, stone walls and old ruins. The place the local water supply came from and where the power lines were that ran through. He talked of utilities and labour costs and the difficulties of moving works equipment. Jamie showed her where the unmarked boundary lay with the neighbouring estate and the small patches of old pine forest or tiny pockets of blanket bog that had somehow escaped burning and felling and draining. They talked of access, of potholes, of the local authority and the neighbours. Jamie went over the different traps for the different types of vermin, showed her outhouses, farm steadings, the cattle and the sheep. Jamie led them along tracks and over hills and finally up along a broad stream she didn't recognise until it reached a larger river and Claire realised they were skirting the town with its polite gardens and the high street and the school. There wasn't an inch of the place that Jamie didn't know like the back of his hand and Claire could begin to understand how his sister Janet had spoken the way she had the night before.

 

Mile after mile of upland was drained, burned and devoid of all life. The trees had been felled, the land drained, the wild animals except game were all culled and any grass or birch or flora that might have come up was grazed down to the ground. The hillsides were all but a monoculture of grouse, red deer and deer grass with only the odd extant Grandmother pine that had somehow survived the desolation of the last two hundred and fifty years of land management. However, in small pockets not considered worth managing for game the natural flora and fauna clung on and Claire found herself yearning to see what sort of state they were in. As for getting around, the main tracks were well kept, the infrastructure for the shooting prioritised.

 

The crofters houses had looked better, however. The gardens were neat and well kept but roans were rusting, slates loose and window frames in need of fresh weather proofing. A few small patches here and there had become legal problems where the size of the tenancies was no longer viable but without the land being decrofted it could be used for little else. Sometimes someone who lived elsewhere would take on the land but that had its own problems too. The thing that struck Claire most of all was that wherever they went, whoever they encountered, Jamie knew every tenent by name and they all knew him. As he explained the situation of one croft after another, he told stories of the people past and present who had inhabited them. A schoolfriend who had moved to Glasgow with his two children and monied accountants from London who had moved up after taking early retirement and been granted the croft by the Commission against the wishes of the Estate. The Estate would have preferred it go to a local. In another residence, a young woman had taken on her parents crofting tenancy after they died but couldn't find work locally and even with the young woman's girlfriend offering to help it had been no good. The job she eventually did find in Ullapool roughly forty miles away required her to live too far away for her to legally keep the croft on Lallybroch.

 

“Why would the estate make her give up her family's home because of her job? Who is it that's in charge of deciding who gets the tenancies?” Claire exclaimed.

 

“Well, the Estate and the Crofters have their differences, that's for sure, but at the end of the day it's not entirely up to us. The buck stops with The Commission, really.”

 

“The Commission?”

 

“It's complicated,” Jamie sighed. “Crofts are regulated. Heavily. But the important bit is, thirty two kilometres.” Jamie said, with a resigned shrug. “Twenty one miles, give or take, is where the heartbreak lies for a lot of young folks as grew up in these parts.”

 

“Why's that?”

 

“It's complicated. A retired bank manager from the East Midlands now lives there.”

 

Claire wondered at that. “That seems a little odd. I thought the whole point of the crofting system was so that locals couldn't be driven off the land?”

 

“You'd have to speak to the Commission about that,” Jamie responded.

 

Claire wondered at Jamie going from eagerly explaining everything Claire asked about land management to clamming up with it came to the matter of the tenants. But the day was getting on and it was soon time to turn for home.

 

 

A little while later they descended down the path carved by a stream and at the bottom came upon a croft nestled in a sheltered corner near a patch of old Scots pine surrounded by ruined piles of masonry and weather-worn stone forming right-angles and tumble-down gable ends. Unfortunately the remaining croft nearby seemed in a particularly poor state of repair. There was an access track, mettled but without tarmac at the end of which was parked an aged land rover that looked very well like it might have been there since the end of the war. They passed the croft and Claire took in the well organised vegetable garden and the way the banks of the stream had been planted up with herbs and flowers. Quite different from the rest of the estate, there was moss everywhere and rushes amidst a boggy patch that formed the remnants of an ox-bow lake. The small lochan was filled with water that was crystal clear and pure. Here and there grey rocks stood out, many of them covered in thick green fluffy moss or well-grown lichens on the dryer patches. Around the stream and the small ox-bow lake a herd of particularly small highland cattle enjoyed the eating of the grass in the shelter of the glen.

 

Jamie slowed to a stop and dismounted before checking if Claire needed a hand down and let the ponies go off to find water and forage amongst the cattle. It was picture perfect quaint.

 

“You get dragonflies here in summer,” Jamie said and when Claire looked at him she found him watching her face for a long moment, before seeming to catch himself. A blush tinged his cheeks and he turned his head away towards the place where a shaft of sunlight flickered through the clouds and moving fast across the hillside as the clouds sped along on a wind high above them.

 

It was just a pond, Claire told herself as she watched the way the sunlight danced amidst the clouds in the gentley rippling reflection of the sky, the way the sunlight glimpsed from time to time creating a flash of brilliant whiteness that momentarily blinded her. Why should it make her heart stop so? It was just a pond. A pond with its rushes and reeds and mosses and small blackish-red highland cattle milling around nibbling the foliage and drinking from the fresh mountain spring.

 

On a stone in the river a dipper bobbed and chirruped it's song and watercress clung on against the movement of the water. “The lapwing and the plovers nest here, sometimes, in the summer,” Jamie waved toward the gently rolling, rocky patch of ground that passed for pasture.

 

“You like wildlife,” Claire observed.

 

“I don't know if 'like' is the word. Respect, perhaps. Too many people come here thinking to possess the land. It's rarer for visitors to get what those of us as grew up with this place in their blood understand, it's the land that possesses you, Sassenach.”

 

And standing here, as the sunlight danced across the water, through the rushes she could see it. Did young Jamie Fraser come up here looking for frogspawn and tadpoles? How many hours had been spent of an evening watching the golden flash of the flocks of plovers moving like fish in a shoal, back and forth and flashing their brilliant feathers in the lowering sun of the golden hour.

 

Nearby a hillock was topped with a clutch of pines and a solitary standing stone. She could imagine faeries and Otherworlds. Something about the hillock with its stones and the way it drew the eye. Claire's stares did not go unnoticed by her guide, who looked from Claire to the hill.

 

“Aye, don't go near that one in the dark, Sassenach. Wee folk, ye ken?” Jamie threw the words over his shoulder as he turned and headed up the small craig towards the croft. The modest dwelling was stonebuilt in the traditional style, with a chimney stack at either gable end, two four-pane sash windows and a little red door.

 

Claire watched him go and wondered what he was up to now. By this point she was seriously bursting for a pee and right now the pine forest was look appealling for a bit of privacy. She looked around, wondering if anyone would notice if she ducked out of the way behind a tree to relieve herself.

 

“Well are you coming in, Sassenach, or are you going to stand out there all day?” Jamie called to her. He was standing on the threshhold, red door open and one foot inside the door. She followed him up the hill to the door and followed him inside with some confusion.

 

“Don't know about you but I'm starving,” Jamie told her. “I should have thought to have Fitz make some sandwiches.” As Claire looked around, Jamie was wiping mud off his boots on the doormat nearby but he pointed down the hall. “Bathroom's at the end there. I'll let you go first.”

 

“You live here?”

 

Jamie's lips curled upwards in a fond smile. “For my sins. My own wee corner o' Lallybroch. Go on, ye must be bursting with me dragging you out across half the Highlands today.”

 

Claire needed no more encouragement and with great relief took herself off to the small but perfectly formed bathroom. It was a touch cold, at the back of the house, with vertical wooden planks lining the wall up to waist height painted the same pale blue as the wall above it. The fittings were white ceramic and obviously decades old. The plumbing looked Edwardian at best and the water was inevitably cold for washing her hands but it was homely and clean and she paused a moment to take in the framed family tree of the highland cattle that hung proudly above the loo.

 

Jamie was in the kitchen, but quickly nipped through to use the bathroom as soon as Claire was done and Claire let herself take a moment to look around. The fixtures and fittings were old, but functional. Some of them clearly homemade, or re-used. Nothing quite matched, the chairs were old, the Raeburn stove gave off a heat that was so faint it felt like it might only just be enough to melt ice into water if it was having a particularly good day. There was a small table and a few chairs.

 

Curiousity got the better of her and while she heard her host in the bathroom Claire wandered back into the hallway. There was a small phone table by the door, a row of pegs with a shoe rack underneath and most of the walls were painted white to maximise the light in the dark building. There were three doors, of old untreated oak that had darkened with time. She opened one slightly, realised immediately it was the bedroom and retreated back into the hallway. Another door however was slightly open and Claire saw that one was the living room, or Front Room as some would say in Scotland. There was a fire set in the fireplace and a rug on the wooden floorboards. Everything was sparse, but functional. If the couch dated from the nineteen fifties the armchair definitely dated from the nineteen thirties. What it lacked in modern comforts was made up with a collection of cushions and blankets neatly folded and placed in each chair. The television was newer, perhaps ten years old but the mantlepiece was modern and unique, a hand-carved work of art. Upon it sat a series of photographs. The woman Claire now knew to be Jamie's sister and her family – including a large brood of children. A picture of an older couple on their wedding day, that from the likeness Claire would guess to be Jamie's parents and one of a group of men in combats in the desert. She peered closer, inspecting one face after another looking for Jamie.

 

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled Claire and she turned to find him standing in the doorway. His eyes lingered on her long enough for a blush to tinge his face. Claire for her part couldn't help but notice that Jamie had taken off his tweed jacket and tie. He was standing in a form-fitting tailored waistcoat over an Oxford shirt that was open at the collar and rather deliciously teased a hint of collar bone. The cut of the shirt and the outline of the fitted waistcoat made clear that Jamie Fraser worked out and her mind went places it had no business going on a work trip. It didn't help that Jamie came forward into the room and with a courteous 'excuse me' brushed past her to light the fire that was set in the fireplace. Kneeling down the shirt stretched across his shoulders as he struck a match from a box that had been left there for that purpose and within a few seconds the flickering of flames progressed into a gentle crackling that let Jamie know the fire had caught. Standing up he realised the close proximity of Claire and his mind went blank. Standing like this her hair was dark and lustrous, her eyes brightened by the fresh air and her cheeks red with the wind.

 

Jamie Fraser's stomach kicked in and reminded him what they were there for. 

 

“Um...there's a pot of broth in the kitchen if you want some.”

 

“That would be lovely, Thank you.”

 

It took Claire a moment to gather herself but, after taking a deep breath, Claire followed Jamie back through to the kitchen, which was like the rest of the cottage in terms of being rather on the small side. Yet it had everything that was needed and Jamie turned the heat on under the soup and set about getting the table ready.

 

“It's from yesterday, but it's still good,” Jamie explained.

 

“I'm sure it'll be lovely. Thank you for having me in your home.”

 

“Ocht, rather thoughtless of me really. I hadn't realised the time, here's me dragging you all the way across the estate and back without so much as a bit of lunch.”

 

“Oh, trust me, if there had been a problem I'd have said something,” Claire insisted, “I think you'll find I kept up just fine.”

 

“That you did,” Jamie smiled.

 

There was a clock on the kitchen wall and it said three o'clock. Something about the activity and the air had made Claire forget her appetite while out of doors but now that they were inside her stomach rumbled, making Jamie laugh.

 

Claire tried to distract him by putting him on the back foot.

 

“So, tell me Jamie Fraser, do you invite all your female clients back here?”

 

Jamie snorted loudly in a manner that rather reminded Claire of the horse he'd been riding all morning. “I'm not really that sort of bloke, Sassenach. You're not veggie, are you?”

 

“No,” Claire shook her head. She found herself smiling at the picture of him, but couldn't exactly say why.

 

“I reckoned we could pause here for a bit and then if I phone down to the big house, Fitz can show you around before dark.”

 

Now that she had sat down, Claire was beginning to feel the exertions of the day catch up with her and she began to realise how tired she had felt. She had lost count of how many miles they had covered that day. The thought of sitting indoors for a while and then heading back to the big house seemed like a fine idea.

 

“We've not had time to cover all the estate, but that's the most of it. There's obviously still the hikers trails, but they tend to stick to the summit tracks on the hills, or stay down in the glens. The crofts we've only glanced at but if you want to inspect the properties themselves we'd need to give advance notice for that. And then there's the mountain bothy as well, that I look after for the walkers."

 

“It's quite the enterprise you have going on. Grouse, deer, fishing, wildlife, walking, crofting...”

 

Jamie nodded. Solemnly. “Aye. Shooting or no a highland estate has to be many things, to many people.”

 

“I have to say, it's a lot more complicated than I realised. I need to do some reading up on crofting, for a start. And shooting. And heather...and a million other things. It seems rather a lot to take on at this point. How do you do it?”

Jamie shrugged. “You learn to turn you hand to things, in a place like this. Much like you and your First Aid, I'd imagine.”

 

“Well, that's more of a hobby, actually.”

 

Claire watched Jamie fill the electric kettle and put it on to boil. “A hobby?”

 

“I wanted to be a Doctor, when I was younger.”

 

“What happened?”

  
  
“Life happened,” Claire laughed but she offered up no more information.

 

Jamie appeared to freeze for a moment. His mind went to Iraq, to coming home, to the long weeks and months of struggling with his physical and mental scars and hours walking the hills until he could function as a human being again. “Aye,” he said softly, “It has a tendency to do that.”

 

No more was said but one by one a teapot and then cups appeared on the table along with milk and sugar. The soup warmed and Jamie served it with large chunks of home made soda bread and they sat down to their meal. Something had changed within Jamie in the last few moments, Claire could tell. He was different now than he had been out on the hill but Claire was quite content with the quiet and so didn't probe, but accepted the hospitality as it was offered. Fresh, home made hearty food after a long day on the hill with warm and welcome company was, Claire decided, heaven itself. It was the best meal Claire had ever eaten.

 

 

* * *

 

Music rec: Air for JAKES by John McCusker from the album John McCusker. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crofters Holdings (Scotland) Act 1886 quoted from legislation.gov.uk (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/Vict/49-50/29/section/1). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/)


	12. Chapter 12

_Land Reform (Scotland) Act 2003_

 

####  _ 1  Access rights _

_ (1) Everyone has the statutory rights established by this Part of this Act. _

_ (2) Those rights (in this Part of this Act called “access rights”) are— _

_ (a) the right to be, for any of the purposes set out in subsection (3) below, on land; and _

_ (b) the right to cross land. _

_ (3) The right set out in subsection (2)(a) above may be exercised only— _

_ (a) for recreational purposes; _

_ (b) for the purposes of carrying on a relevant educational activity; or _

_ (c) for the purposes of carrying on, commercially or for profit, an activity which the person exercising the right could carry on otherwise than commercially or for profit. _

_ (4) The reference— _

_ (a) in subsection (2)(a) above to being on land for any of the purposes set out in subsection (3) above is a reference to— _

_ (i) going into, passing over and remaining on it for any of those purposes and then leaving it; or _

_ (ii) any combination of those; _

_ (b) in subsection (2)(b) above to crossing land is a reference to going into it, passing over it and leaving it all for the purpose of getting from one place outside the land to another such place. _

_ (5) A “relevant educational activity” is, for the purposes of subsection (3) above, an activity which is carried on by a person for the purposes of— _

_ (a) furthering the person’s understanding of natural or cultural heritage; or _

_ (b) enabling or assisting other persons to further their understanding of natural or cultural heritage. _

_ (6) Access rights are exercisable above and below (as well as on) the surface of the land. _

_ (7) The land in respect of which access rights are exercisable is all land except that specified in or under section 6 below. _

 

 

**Chapter 12**

 

They sat and ate their soup in quiet, companionable silence and by the time they were both done it was nearing four o'clock and Claire was beginning to feel the day catch up with her. Jamie suggested to Claire that she take a seat by the fire next door and he would boil the kettle again for them both before they headed back down to the Big House.

 

Claire was all too happy to lay down on the old sofa, curled up on a pillow with a throw over her legs and the crackling fireplace to keep her company. She could hear in the room next door Jamie pottering about, doing the washing up and the quiet sound of a local radio station came to life. The soft sound of the spoken Gaelic was interspersed with traditional music from the Highlands and Islands and it had a somewhat lulling effect, like the gentle rocking of a boat on a calm sea mirrored in the music of the Gaeltacht that drifted through from the cottage kitchen.

 

When Jamie came through to bring Claire a cup of tea some time later he found her sound asleep and gently pulled the blanket up over her chest to keep her warm. As Claire slept away to the sound of the crackling fire, Jamie allowed himself a moment to bask in her presence and to wonder what it might be like to have Claire around all the time. Jamie was desperate to modernise the running of the estate and he liked to think of the Community Buyout fell through he would have a like minded individual in Claire to work with. Dougall had always been the old Landlord's man and whether he would stay when the old Landlord went no one knew but the tantilising prospect of possible new futures opened up to him in ways Jamie had never dared dream of before. Did she like it here? Was it too simple for her? But Jamie was happy with a simple life. Working the land, being active, crofting his own small patch, breeding the purebred highland cattle he sold on to be crossed with the limousins and charolais to get the big, hefty beef cows the modern market wanted. Too bad they had to mature them by thirty months these days. That rule had turfed the highlanders out of the commercial beef market, but Jamie loved them and found whatever ways he could of making his little enterprise work.

 

A few cattle, a potato patch and still plenty of time to help out Janet and Ian with their larger croft that required modern machinery to keep on top of all the crops that required planting and harvesting and the routine work of modern arable farming.

 

The fire crackled. Quietly, in the background, the national Gaelic radio station announced the news. Claire's chest rose and fell with each breath, the quiet sound of her breathing a reassurance to Jamie that all was well. Half an hour later Claire began to stir and Jamie rose to check on her, kneeling by the couch as she came around. Claire stretched with a hint of a moan that made Jamie want to know what other wee noises she made. He had to bite back a smirk at that thought, but contented himself with checking Claire was well and enjoying her presence here in his little home.

 

Claire for her part, stretched and spent a few disorientating moments trying to figure out where she was and why she was here. She was lying on a piece of furniture by a fire. A sofa, in someone's living room. The warmth of the flames in the hearth and the gentle popping of knots in the wood mixed with the smell of woodsmoke to create a homely atmosphere and there was the man whose home it was, kneeling down at her side. Jamie Fraser, still in his estate kilt and waistcoat. He looked so handsome there, the flickering flames of the woodfire catching the high cheekbones, his sharp blue eyes with a concerned expression leaned close to her, his wild russet curls falling about where the weather had disturbed them and sinfully kissable lips curling into a warm smile at the sight of her.

 

Jamie's eyes met hers and in a moment of pure impulse, Claire reached up a hand around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss. His lips were warm and slightly chapped from the weather but they moved over hers and Claire felt him pause for a moment and then melt into it, wet and messy and wanting.

 

They broke apart with a breathe and there was silence apart from Jamie's heavy breathing and Claire's concerned eyes, wondering if she had done the right thing. She couldn't tell from the way Jamie was staring at the ground if it had been welcome or not, but he had asked her for coffee and he had kissed her back. Claire didn't think she was at all mistaken about his interest. And then her world came crashing down.

 

“You shouldn't have done that,” Jamie said at last.

 

Claire's heart sank. Had she misunderstood something? “I-I'm sorry, Jamie. You're right, you've shown me nothing but hospitality and I...” Claire tailed off, searching for words as her face burned with embarrassment. “I apologise. Clearly I've misread things.”

 

“NO!” Jamie exclaimed, and then mentally kicked himself for the startled look in her eyes and forced himself to speak more softly. He didn't want to startle her, or frighten her. “I didnae mean to imply the kiss was unwelcome, Sassenach. I only meant, it isnae a very good idea to surprise me.”

 

Claire couldn't make head nor tail of what Jamie Fraser was trying to say and something of her confusion must have shown on his face for he looked somewhat ashamed and then Claire's eyes went to the mantlepiece, the photograph of the men in desert camouflage military uniforms. Jamie didn't seem inclined to volunteer anything further, but she could guess. “Well then,” Claire told him, looking into his eyes with a strong and certain gaze, “Next time I'll ask.”

 

Jamie felt himself caught in her amber eyes, the colour of warm whisky, and felt a warmth growing between them that didn't come from the fire. Jamie ducked his head to hide his smile but Claire didn't bother. He was shy and bashful and handsome and, she suspected, a little bit younger than herself and if she allowed herself, Claire suspected she could fall very badly for this man here.

 

Finally she saw him nod his head at her words.

 

“Thank you. I've got to see to the horses. I'll come and get you when it's time to go.”

 

 

Claire lay a while longer, staring into the flames. She got up after a time and took a short walk around the room. Outside Jamie was standing with Trom, the black pony's head nudging Jamie's chest pockets, perhaps in the hope of finding a mint. Jamie was rubbing the stallion's ears and looked liked he was talking to the creature. In the kitchen Jamie had washed and tidied everything away in the efficient manner of someone who was used to doing practical things on a regular basis. Claire paid another visit to the toilet and when she went to the door afterwards Jamie was walking up the path with two ponies in tow looking ready to go. The already fresh afternoon was cooling into evening, although it wasn't sunset yet for another hour or two.

 

Claire agreed to mind the horses while Jamie phoned down to the big house and then they were on their way again. They walked for a while and then mounted the ponies once more for the ride through town to the estate on the other side. To Claire's surprise they got nary a glance from the few locals out and about on the quiet streets, except for the odd nod or 'hello'.

 

“You must know all your neighbours round here?”

 

“Oh, only to say hello to, really. Not to entertain. I spend a lot of time on the estate,” Jamie shrugged, “Janet, my sister, probably knows most of the villagers better than I do, especially with the wee ones at the school.”

 

“Only to say hello to,” Claire repeated with a tease in her voice. It was one of the familiar little habits she had grown to love about her adopted home in Scotland. Almost everyone said hello when out and about, even to complete strangers and often accompanied by a short nod or a comment about the weather as they passed each other when walking or gardening or going about their day. She had only been here a few days but already Claire had grown to love the distinctive Scots Baronial architecture, the small crofts and cottages. The heather and little copses of birch trees here and there that had somehow escaped being cleared. The clean air, the fresh mountain springs, the lichens on the trees and the small patchwork of animals and gardens and vegetable patches. A workman's van here advertised local joinery services, a sign above a shop in the shape of a fish indicated it sold an assortment of outdoor fishing, shooting and hunting goods. There was a small mid-range Italian restaurant & ice cream parlour and a small newsagents on the corner where Jamie stopped and suggested they could buy a sweet piece of tiffin for pudding.

 

Once again, Claire agreed to hold Trom and from the doorway Claire watched as Jamie picked out two cling-filmed squares of millionaire's shortbread. Behind the counter a woman of South Asian heritage greeted Jamie. She was in her mid-thirties and wore denim jeans with a traditionally embroidered tunic top and her speech gave away a strong Glaswegian accent. “Good afternoon, Jamie.”

 

 

“Good afternoon, Kirin. On the evening shift, then?”

 

“Aye, til the kids get home. Harjeet, Jamie's here!”

 

From a room in the back a man appeared who was obviously Kirin's husband appeared. His hair tied up in a brightly coloured turban and wearing a Scotland football team top. He reached out to shake Jamie's hand and then noticed Claire standing in the doorway. “I see you've got company, Jamie?”

 

“Oh, aye, guys this is Claire. She's visiting for a few days. Claire, Kirin and her husband run the shop here.”

 

“Hello,” Claire smiled.

 

"Pleased to meet you," Kirin smiled politely. But Claire couldn't help but notice a look pass between Kirin and Harjeet and hoped she wasn't blushing too hard at the thought of the earlier kiss. Apparently Jamie didn't get too many female visitors.

 

“Harjeet's a mean cook, too, he organises Indian nights at the Scout Hall once a month or so. Talking of which, I don't suppose you've got any of those wee haggis pakora left in the back?”

  
Harjeet laughed. “Sorry, Jamie, you've eaten us out of haggis pakora at the moment. I'll be going to the cash and carry in Inverness in the morning for fresh supplies, I'll give you a ring when I've made up a new batch, aye?”

Jamie grinned, “Thanks, Harjeet.” He handed over a couple of quid for the baking and gave them a wave in goodbye as he went back out to Claire. Back on the road they plodded their way through the town, forded the river near the bridge and cracked open the millionaire's shortbread on the last couple of miles on the way back to the Big House.

 

Claire moaned in secret bliss as soon as the first bite touched her lip. “Oh, that is sinfully good.”

 

“Aye, there's a few of the older folks weren't sure about having a Sikh family move in when they came up here but Harjeet's cooking sure does a lot to make them popular, I'll say that.”

 

“I'm guessing from the accents that they're from Glasgow, originally?”

 

“Aye. Came up for a few days in the country and ended up staying. Kirin was rather taken with the place. Not uncommon in these parts, actually. Good folks to have, too. Would do anything for anybody. Took on a couple of locals part time, as well and anyone creating jobs round about here is welcome, I'll tell you that. Their daughter's in the Gaelic stream, actually, with my niece and nephew.”

 

Yet another reminder, if Claire needed one, of the appealing community spirit in this place. The entire day had been spent with just the two of them and the landscape of Lallybroch Estate. The quiet peace that had settled between them was something Claire knew was going to be disrupted all too quickly by the intrusion of the real world as soon as they got back to the Big House and the rest of the journey back seemed to go all too quickly. Turning off the single track highland road onto the drive they came back to the Big House as afternoon was moving towards evening. Mrs Fitz was ready to meet them, with Ian coming out to help with the horses and all too abruptly Claire found herself swept away by Mrs Fitz for a whirlwind tour of the house and gardens.

 

Mrs Fitz, for all her hospitality, could be rather forceful when she wanted to be and Claire found herself shepherded from one room to the next, with a nervous and babbling Mrs Fitz giving Claire a never-ending stream of information about the accommodations, the guest rooms, the dining rooms, the pros and cons of plumbing and carpets and leaking roofs and every aspect of household management that seemed to come to mind as Claire valiently tried to focus on the physical state of the property and the degree of investment and renovation required. Next were the outside custom-built holiday home cottages and then the staff quarters and the kitchen garden. There was an old dairy building that was currently out of use that Claire thought looked rather promising as a modern renovation project and made a mental note to mention it in her report but before long it was dark and the dark, silent figure of Murtagh appeared, making apologies for Jamie and escorting Claire back to her car.

 

Claire wanted, hoped, to speak to Jamie one last time. She would have to head back south again in the morning and she had hoped to have another opportunity to speak with him before she left but apparently Jamie was nowhere to be found.

 

At her car, Claire hesitated. She wondered if she could trust this man. What was he to Jamie? After all, it was Murtagh that Jamie had asked for any time he needed a ride or some assistance. Claire politely thanked the man for the Estate's hospitality and then opened the car door and slipped inside.

 

“Ms Beauchamp?”

 

Claire looked up at Murtagh who was standing with his hand on the top of the car door, stopping it closing.

 

“Jamie's a good lad, but he's been through a lot. More than you'd think, for one so young.”

 

Claire nodded, “And what, you're warning me off?”

“The right woman could be very good for Jamie but the wrong one?” Murtagh shook his head. “I'm asking you to tread carefully.”

 

“I have no intention of going around breaking people's hearts,” Claire declared feeling slightly affronted. “And frankly I resent the accusation. I'm here because I've got a job to do.”

 

“I know that,” Murtagh replied, “And right enough any fool can see our Jamie's got a soft spot for you but all the same...it's not his heart I'm worried about.”

 

Claire found herself receiving one last meaningful look before the car door was closed and almost on automatic pilot she started the car and started the drive back to town. She had to pack tonight, and start her report and she was thoroughly worn out from her day on the hill and through all of it, her mind would only think of one thing:

 

Jamie Fraser.

 

* * *

 

Music rec: Gillies from the album Half Tail by Wolfstone. This tune incorporates The Sleeping Tune by Gordon Duncan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Land Reform (Scotland) Act 2003 quoted from legislation.gov.uk (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/asp/2003/2/section/1). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/)


	13. Chapter 13

Register of Sasines Act 1693

_"Our Soveraigne Lord and Lady The King and Queens Majesties Considering That the many good Acts appointing Registers of Sasines Reversions Hornings Inhibitions Interdictions Allowances of Apprizings or Adjudications that Purchasers and Creditors might know with whom they might safely contract have been much frustrated by the Keepers of the Registers not inserting the same in the Registers at the time and in the order they were presented to them whereby none could know by Inspection of the Registers what Writs appointed to be registrate were in the hands of the Keepers of the Registers and thereby could not securely bargain For Remeed whereof Their Majesties with advice and consent of the Estates of Parliament Doe Statute and Ordain That all the Keepers of the said Registers shall keep Minute Books of all Writs presented to them to be registrate in their severall Registers Expressing the day when and the names and designations of the persons by whom] the saids Writs shall be presented and that the said minute be immediately signed by the presenter of the writ and also by the Keeper, and] patent to all the Lieges who shall desire Inspection of it gratis And that the Writs shall be registrate exactly conform to the Order of the said Minute Book . . ."_

 

Chapter 13

  
That evening Claire returned to the B&B and opened up her laptop. After some online searching she compiled a list of reading on estate management. There were numerous press articles, interest groups like conservation organisations, community trusts, energy firms, shooting and game groups, as well as governmental and non-governmental policy documents covering all manner of areas. Claire downloaded what she could and skimmed through it quickly to decide on a priority list for further reading. Claire noted in her diary to visit the National Library of Scotland once she was back in Edinburgh, and order some books on the subject from their extensive collection. Or possibly her local library might have some things available through inter-library loans.

Having been raised by a historian, Claire was no stranger to sifting through large volumes of information and with so much being electronic these days it was easy to download everything onto her laptop. Next she opened a new document ready to start writing up the provisional findings of her report. It need only be a couple of pages, after all most clients weren't interested in reading anything longer than that and by the sounds of things Charles Stuart was no different in that respect, but there was the delicate matter of what to include in it and what to omit. Her mind couldn't quite concentrate and so Claire put on the radio, finding the same Gaelic language station Jamie had been listening to earlier. Claire couldn't pretend to understand the words, but something about it called to her. She found it soothing, lilting, like the waves on the ocean or the whirls of wind on a mountain. Something about it felt warm and homely and Claire settled in, finding herself quickly putting together a couple of pages for Geilis.

Claire had no problem agreeing that the estate met the criteria that Charles Stuart had set out. A shooting estate with extensive grouse muir and red deer. However she also decided to honestly note a number of negative points. Intensive land management for game appeared to have a detrimental effect on the environment and indications from the estate staff were that game numbers were down in spite of the intensification. The property itself would require large investments to bring it up to modern standards and to keep it going and the estate had been failing to make a profit in recent years. There were strict regulations about what could be shot when, such that Charles Stuart should be mindful of local laws if the restrictions on the sport were an important consideration on his decision as to whether to purchase Lallybroch or look elsewhere.

Claire sighed and rolled her eyes slightly at having to reduce a place of such beauty and character to bullet point summaries but after a quick proof read Claire finalised the email to Geilis and decided it was time for a late dinner. Having reassured Mrs Baird earlier that she was going to need to work through dinner, Claire decided not to bother her this evening and informed her landlady that she would visit town for something to eat. Mrs Baird suggested that the cafe should still be open at this time of night as it was often used by the parents waiting for their children attending local evening activities in the town.

The town was mostly quiet and still. There was a chill in the air and a few specs of rain threatened but came to nothing. The pervasive dampness in the air however took the heat out of her and Claire was happy to get to the cafe on the high street where, as Mrs Baird had suggested, a large group of parents were sitting and standing drinking tea and coffee and holding various kit bags and assorted pieces of sports equipment. There was the warm hubub of a community at ease and a hint of mist on the windows from the number of people indoors. A number of them were dressed in overalls, others in muddy wellies, waxed jackets and well-worn sweaters or modern outdoor gear that always looked like it had seen a few seasons. She appreciated that no one around here stood on ceremony. People generally took each other as they found them.

The hubub barely dimmed when Claire entered, although she caught a few looks. She went up to the counter and perused the food on offer. Most of the hot food was finished, but the attendant suggested she could fire up a quick omlette and salad for Claire with local eggs laid fresh that morning and some of the local highland cheddar cheese. Behind the counter a blackboard on the wall boasted a list of local suppliers. Local eggs, local cheeses, local salads and vegetables. Home made bread, the list went on. Locally sourced meat culled at a small scale abattoir. A book case on one wall contained a selection of preserves and the walls and windowsills were lined with the work of artists that was available to purchase.

Her heart stopped as she spotted a picture that took her breath away. A familiar hillside of green grass and heather dotted with small orange and black highland cattle. A small pond, a copse of Scots pine and a small stone cottage with a wee red door. Noting the painting, Claire paid for her food and a cup of tea and found a table. As she ate Claire perused the notices on the noticeboard advertising all sorts of local produce and events. There was a poster for a local juniors shinty match at the weekend. A number of local crofts and businesses advertising goods for sale – everything from food to animals to skill such as joinery, plumbing, mechanics, woodwork, pottery, crafts, and other miscellaneous services.

There was a homely quality about the place, a community atmosphere that was somewhat alien to Claire, having never had much in the way of roots in her life. Her childhood had involved lots of moving around. It had just been her and Uncle Lamb and then it was Claire and Frank. A quiet sort of way of living. This place was people, neighbours, relations, cousins and friends all mixed up together. The hubub of conversation covered all matters of interest and while trying to keep her head down she quietly tried to get the ear of the place. A conversation about concerns regarding the local school here. An offer of help on a a croft over there. Gardening advice in another conversation, talk of sheep disease and someone else working their way through a long update on how their cousins in Canada were faring.

As she finished up her meal a particular voice caught Claire's eyes, a voice that seemed somewhat familiar until she looked up and spotted the short woman with dark hair that could only be Jamie's sister. At the very moment Claire looked up, Janet's eye cast sideways slightly and their gazes met for the briefest of moments.

“Of course with his shoulder being the way it is he won't be playing in the match but Jamie's agreed to help coach the wee ones until he's healed again and Ian suggested he and Jamie could take the kids to see the Fort William match next weekend which would give me a nice long day to myself!”

Claire watched Janet carry on regardless and lost herself in her own thoughts. She took out her notebook and decided to spend a moment skimming over her notes and highlighted the areas of Charles Stuart's interest that she would need to look into further. Enquiring into the state of the local economy would be crucial in discovering whether the troubles of the estate were likely to be widespread. It was clear from the polite glances, and the mild-mannered cold shoulders that most of the people in the room knew exactly who Claire was but she would never get anything done if she let herself be put off every time she felt slightly unwelcome and so resolved to continue for a few moments longer before returning to her hotel. Perhaps she could even approach a few of the women here for their opinions on some the issues Jamie had highlighted?

A chair at her table moved and a shadow fell over her table. Claire looked up to see Jamie's diminutive sister standing by her table, the other parents she had been talking to now quietly whispering across the other side of the room.

Claire forced a smile through the other woman's hostile stare and invited her to take a seat.

Primly the small woman sat on the edge of a seat and clasped her hands in her lap.

“Claire Beauchamp,” Claire offered her hand.

Janet stared at it. “I know who you are. You're the trollop who turned my brother's head, though God knows how, the man lives more like a monk than half the clergy in the Catholic Church.”

Claire tried to suppress any notable response to that particular titbit of information. “Well,” Claire cleared her throat, “I don’t know where you heard that but as I have already explained to Murtagh, I'm here visiting Lallybroch for work.”

A small noise of derision escaped Janet's throat. “Aye, estate management work.”

“I look after arable farming estates in the lowlands. Plants are my thing, really. Some sheep as well, by necessity. I'm just here to look at the place and write my report.”

“Admitting you know nothing and using that as some sort of excuse? And then expecting me to swallow the 'just doing your job' line? The arrogance of you English really knows no bounds, does it?”

Claire could feel the urge to make a strong response, but thought of Jamie and how badly it would look for her to clash with his sister when they barely knew each other. “I think I was asked to visit here and make a report and I intend to do that to the best of my abilities.”

Janet's look of scorn had no outward effect on Claire but it hurt, inside, to be treated automatically with such derision before the locals had even gotten to know her. To be judged on her accent and where she was born before she even knew any of them. Nevermind her qualifications. Then she thought of Jamie and everything she had been learning and decided to put on her best understanding face.

“I can understand that a place like this must have had it's fair share of bad factors over the years.”

“Oh, you can _understand_. Well then...” Janet scorned with great sarcasm.

“For what it's worth if I take my work hat off, I do support your cause.”

“You expect me to believe that? An English land manager working for Charles Stuart would support a community buy out?”

Claire tried again. “I can see why you love it so much,” She commented, looking around the room. For a moment she let the feeling wash over her, the warmth in the room, the sense of community, of communal endeavour and support.

“Excuse me, Claire Beauchamp, but you have no idea what I see!” Janet snapped.

Claire nodded. “No, probably not. But I'm not completely blind. I see you have a community. I see the patches of green in the glens and straths that were cultivated once. I see the ruined crofts. I see the foreign spruce tree plantations that look so out of place, presumably another source of income for the landlord. I see the lack of opportunities. No, I probably don't see what you see, but I do see something.”

“Oh, you've been here a few days so now you know the place inside out, I take it?”

“As I said, I'm just doing my job,” Claire insisted. “Your brother understands that. I could have turned up here, had a look around in an afternoon and driven home again. I took the time to get a proper feel for the place because I thought Lallybroch deserved it.”

“Don't for a moment pretend to know my brother; or what this community has endured down the years and centuries,” Janet nearly shook with anger.

“Then tell me,” Claire urged.

Janet's expression was like a wee highland terrier ready to pounce, but Claire stuck to her guns. For all her hostility, Claire couldn't help but admire the other woman's strength of passion and drive.

Janet stared off into the distance. "You know he served? Jamie?"

Claire nodded.

"“They used to wait til they were gone, you know. The men. The military tradition we have, it wasn't always by choice. The feudal system meant they were called up by the Landlord and sent away to war. The factor would wait until they were in Spain and France fighting Napoleon before taking a torch to the homes of their women and children. Later on it was schools, for it was cheaper to clear a township than to build a school when the Education Act came in.”

“1870,” Claire noted.

Janet looked surprised, “Aye.”

“I've known a few historians in my time,” Claire responded cryptically. No need right now to go into the disaster of her marriage to Frank or the humiliation of his endless womanising. Or the litany of slightly derogatory comments she endured from day to day.

“And if it isn't you, it will be someone else. Tell me, were the factors and the land agents just doing their job when they torched the roofs and padlocked the doors of my great-grandsparents? Were they just doing their job when they treated the people like vermin? When half starved people trekked miles on empty stomach to break in six inches of topsoil on barren rock, pulling the heather with their bare hands only to be evicted again and soon as they succeeded? Everyone knows Landlords squeeze every penny they can out of a place like this. Once upon a time if the Landlord wanted your cow, the landlord took your cow. If the landlord wanted your land, he turfed you out and took your land. If the landlord wanted a woman...” Janet glanced meaningfully at Claire, “Doubtless that happened too. Anytime anyone improves their lot, it disappears upstairs. There's only one bed and breakfast because the landlord doesn't want the competition. Taking a fish is a crime. Taking a hind is a crime, felling a tree is a crime. There's nothing allowed to be here that could challenge or threaten their economic monopoly on the place and no one's allowed to share anything that could ever make their lives a wee bit better.”

Claire's mind fitted the pieces together. She had some inkling, from Frank's work of how bad it had been. But generation after generation of starvation, eeking out a daily ration from the ground only to be trodden on and stolen from again and again and again down the decades and centuries. For all its beauty and wonder, was it any wonder that a depressing air of misery clung to the town itself? A slight feeling of emptiness. Of struggling shops and barely-managing locals. No one quite having enough to live on. Crofting and part-time jobs, tourism, self-employment. Whatever money people could scrabble together from a bit of this and a bit of that. There were no careers here, no prospects, no start-ups or training opportunities apart from gamekeeping work on the estate. Year by year the place was economically starving to death.

  
“My Jamie will be going to big school next year, and in a year or two after that they'll have him talking careers and picking subjects and right now there's three options. There's the Army, there's the Estate or there's the Local Authority. Or there's leaving, and never returning until you're retired if you make it that far. Aye, maybe they've stopped the actual burnings and throwing the milk on the hearthfires out of spite, but don't for a moment pretend that Charles Stuart isn't exactly like every other landlord who ever went before him. Absentee Landlords have been the death of too many communities already, until all that's left is deer and heather and then some posh twat comes and paints it and calls it romantic. Nevermind resettling the Glens, though God knows I'd love to see it, but lets start by finding a way to let our kids have jobs and homes in the place they grew up. I'm watching my community die, Claire, slowly turning into a scenic retirement home for middle class wankers from the south as family after family are forced to leave with no prospect of a future. We need youth, we need hope, we need schools and families and jobs and life back in the place and if you think for one moment I'm going to let a man like Charles Stuart or anyone who works for him get in the way of that, you have another thing coming, Claire Beauchamp. I can promise you that."

 

And with one last long fierce look, Janet Fraser rose from the table and gathered her things to leave.

 

 

* * *

 

Music rec: A Phiuthrag ‘s a Phiuthar by Julie Fowlis from the album Alterum feat. Mary Chapin Carpenter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Register of Sasines Act 1693 quoted from legislation.gov.uk (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/aosp/1693/23/paragraph/p1). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to suggest a piece of music with each chapter, which a number of readers felt would add another level of cultural depth and interest. This will often be music I have been listening to in the process of writing this story. I will link where I can but as this won't always be possible, I would invite you to go and find the music on spotify and itunes. I intend to go back over the previous chapters and suggest a piece of music for each of those as well, when I have the time. You will find the music noted at the bottom of each chapter.

* * *

 

_EVIDENCE TAKEN BY HER MAJESTY'S COMMISSIONERS OF INQUIRY INTO THE CONDITIONS OF THE CROFTERS AND COTTARS IN THE HIGHLANDS AND ISLANDS OF SCOTLAND VOL I. PRESENTED TO BOTH HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT BY COMMAND OF HER MAJESTY_

_HIGHLANDS AND ISLANDS COMMISSION._

_BRAES, SKYE, TUESDAY, MAY 8, 1883._

_Present:—_

_Lord NAPIER AND ETTRiCK, K.T., ChairMan._

_Sir KENNETH S. MACKENZIE, Bart._

_DoNALD CAMERON, Esq. of Lochiel, M.P._

_C. FRASER MACKINTOSH, Esq., M.P._

_Sheriff NICOLSON, LLD ._

_Professor MACKINNON, M.A._

_ANGUS STEWART, Crofter, Beinn-a-chorrain—examined._

_1\. -The Chairman.—Would you have the goodness to state what is your occupation ?—A crofter._

_2\. Have you also been engaged in fishing ?—Yes._

_3\. Were you born here, at the Braes?—Born at the Braes._

_4\. Have you lived here all your life?—Not all m y life. I have been away, but not very far off._

_5\. From time to time ?—From time to time. ._

_6\. But you are thorough.y acquainted with the feelings and interests of the people here?—Yes._

_7\. Have you been freely elected by the people to be their delegate!— Yes._

_8\. Now, will you have the goodness to state to me what are the hardships or grievances of which the people complain who have elected you ?— Yes; but it is in Gaelic that I prefer to speak._

_9\. You desire to be examined in Gaelic?—Yes. [From this point the examination of the witness and of subsequent witnesses in Skye was conducted through Mr Dugald M'Lachlan, sheriff-clerk depute, as interpreter.]_

_10\. Then you wit! have the goodness to state what are the hardships m d grievances, if any, of which the people whom you represent at this place complain ?—I would wish that I should have an opportunity of saying a few words before I tell that, and that is that I should have the assurance that I wiH not be evicted from my holding by the landlord or factor, as I have seen done already. I would not have a fire in my house at Whitsunday I want the assurance that I will not be evicted, for I cannot bear evidence to the distress of my people without bearing evidence to the oppression and high-handedness of the landlord and his factor._

_11\. Have you anything more to add to your preparatory statement?— No._

_12\. It is impossible for the Commission to give you any absolute security of the kind which you desire. The Commission cannot interfere between you and your landlord, or between you and the law, but we trust that no act of oppression or severity would ever be exercised towards you or any one else by the landlord in consequence of your courage and goodness in telling the absolute truth. [Examination ADJOURNED.]_

 

* * *

 

 

**Chapter 14**

 

Silence fell after Janet's passionate words and Claire sipped the last of her tea the clinking sound of the teacup on the saucer seemed inordinately loud even amongst the hubub of the room.

 

Across the table, to Claire's surprise, Jenny didn't move away but sat quietly, appearing to gather her thoughts. Claire watched her take in a breath.

 

“It's only natural that you want the best for your family. I can't fault you there. And you're right. There is a lot I don't know, or don't understand. But I am trying to learn, Mrs Murray.”

 

“My name is Janet Fraser, or Janet Fraser Murray if you must.”

 

Claire nodded. “Of course.” She wondered at Jamie's sister hanging around. After such strong words, Claire had thought the woman would make her point and leave as soon as possible. But here she was, still sitting sharing a table. “I can't seem to get anything right today.”

“I wouldn't say that. By the sounds of things you set my brother' shoulder pretty right.”

 

“I told him to go and see a Doctor,” Claire informed Jenny.

 

Jenny snorted loudly. “Aye, that'll be right. Might as well drag the man kicking and screaming.” She sighed, “The GP's not exactly next door in these parts but the coach'll make sure he gets it seen.” Jenny glanced around the room, taking in the other parents and gave a short nod and a wave to another parent across the room.

 

“I take it something's going on tonight?” Claire asked mildly.

 

“Ocht, just Shinty practice. For most people who live out of town it isn't worth driving all the way home and back again,” Jenny explained. “My brother usually plays in the local team but with his shoulder being the way it is he seems to have been roped into helping coach the kids team instead.” At that moment the clock on the wall chimed the top of the hour and parents began to gather coats and bags and prepare to leave. A parade soon started out the door in the direction of the local school playing fields and Janet stood up at last and gave Claire a nod. “You'll be coming then?”

 

Claire supposed that was as much of an invitation as she was going to get and cautiously got up to leave, falling in at Jenny's side. “I've heard of shinty of course but I've never seen it played.”

 

“Aye, it's more of a Highland thing than a Lowland thing,” Jenny agreed. The night was cold and crisp. The streetlights were on but the town was small enough that there was little light pollution and the stars could easily be seen through the holes in the large fluffy clouds that were moving slowly in the light breeze. The air was fresh, fresher than she had ever tasted. It made her feel alive and she took in a deep breath, enjoying the way it filled her lungs.

 

“They practice once or twice a week at the school playing fields. Games are on Saturday. There's a local league of sorts they play in.”

 

The school playing field turned out to be a large grass area with various faded white lines marked on it, surrounded by a well established hedge and a collection of large mature trees whose leaves were just starting to turn. There was no such thing as a changing room or pavillion, the collection of bags, clothes and personal belongings dumped in a line along the pitch side seemed to be it. Under foot the earlier rain lingered in the wet soil, somewhat stodgy underfoot in a way that made your feet heavy. Claire could hear the squelching of feet, and the distinctive thwack of the shinty sticks hitting their target, along with the shouting of lively in-match communication. As they came into view, one team was clearly trying to score a last-minute goal. The children were muddy up their legs, with their shorts and knee-length socks covered in a way that reminded Claire of a rugby match. In the middle of it all, dressed in his own kit was Jamie's distinct red hair, trying to keep order amongst the young players.

 

Beside her, Janet sighed softly. “I suppose if Charles Stuart's purchase does go ahead, and the buyout doesn't work, we'll be seeing a lot more of you in times to come.”

 

“That is possible, yes,” Claire hedged. She was less and less sure about taking on the mangement of Lallybroch. The longer she spent here the more daunting it seemed. But the Estate might not be on the only reason for Jenny's question.

 

“And if it doesn't go ahead?” Jenny looked at Claire meaningfully. “Go easy on him, Aye? My brother's all brains and no sense...and he hasn't had the easiest time of it.”

 

Claire searched for something to say in response but apparently a response wasn't required as Jenny turned her attention to the events on the field. As the parents approached Claire could see Jamie call a halt to the match and rounded his charges up for one last huddle before the practice session broke up. As the children trailed away, Claire could see several parents come over and speak to Jamie, shaking his hand. One or two more approached Janet, a quick word here or there before parting expressing their support for Janet's plans and asking for updates or offering help and support. Claire got more than a few curious glances and any time Janet introduced her there was always a polite and hospitable response. The traditions of highland courtesy were deeply ingrained, though Claire could also tell the hint of suspicion on the part of many of the locals.

 

At length, big Jamie began to drift towards his sister Janet with a lad in tow that from the likeness Claire could only assume was the child Janet had referred to as her son. The suspicion was confirmed when the boy went straight to his mother and allowed her to check him over for injuries.

 

The elder Jamie looked from Janet to Claire.

 

“Claire popped into the cafe,” Janet explained. “But I'll be needing to get this one home now,” Jenny's arm curled around her son's shoulders.

 

“Aye,” Jamie glanced again at Claire and then back to his sister and then took in a breath, “Janet...”

 

“I'm sure Claire wouldn't mind if you walked her home,” Janet interrupted.

 

Jamie's eyes narrowed as his sister cut him off with a meaningful raise of her eyebrows and then just like that Janet walked away with wee Jamie giving his uncle a wave over the shoulder. “Bye Uncle Jamie!”

 

Jamie waved half heartedly and awkwardly shuffled as Claire watched on in amusement at Jamie's awkwardness. “You don't really have to walk me back,” She laughed.

 

“No! No, it's fine. Just let me get my things and I’ll...” Jamie waved vaguely in the direction of the B&B. It was barely ten degrees out, and damp to boot, but Jamie didn't bother putting anything over his shorts. He grabbed his coat, one of the last as the crowd dispersed and they fell into step together.

 

“Your sister was saying you and Ian might be taking the children to the Fort William match?”

 

“Oh, was she now? Aye, it wouldn't surprise me. She's always trying to keep me busy.”

 

“I'm sure she means well,” Claire offered. Somewhere in the distance a tawny owl called, another answering, combining into the familiar 'twit-twoo' as they called back and forth to each other across the night.

 

“Aye,” Jamie let out a breath. He cupped his hands and made a good impression of the male, smiling slightly when the female owl called back in the distance and then seeming to realise he had company, made a small apology to Claire. “Sorry. Habit.”

 

“Oh, don't let me stop you,” Claire found herself enjoying his company. He was easy company, unassuming but so present, imposing and yet courteous. Strength and gentility.

 

“I wasn't expecting to see you tonight,” Jamie said quietly. “Not that it's unwelcome.”

 

They were walking slowly, barely walking even. Meandering slowly, one step at a time. Trying to make the short journey of a few minutes last longer. Above them there stars were out and Claire's memory always went to Uncle Lamb teaching her the constellations night after night as they moved from one adventurous archaeology project to another.

 

“You'll be going home tomorrow?”

 

Claire nodded, “Back to Edinburgh.”

 

“And if I had business in Edinburgh...or you had cause to come here again...”

 

Claire looked across at Jamie with interest.

 

At that moment they were interrupted by the ringing of a mobile phone and a look of irritation and then worry flashed across Jamie's face. “We've a call out.”

“A call out?”

  
  
“Mountain rescue,” Jamie explained with urgency. “I'm sorry, Claire, I have to-”

 

“No, Go! Go!”

 

They were only just around the corner from the B&B, Claire knew she would be just fine but she paused and watched as Jamie Fraser jogged off into the distance without another word. She returned to Mrs Baird's on her own and lay awake, her thoughts pre-occupied by a tall red haired Scot with a fierce expression and a gentle soul. Her stomach clenched and in the darkness of the night Claire allowed her fantasies to take hold, but the physical release did not bring the emotional solace she was looking for and it was some time before she drifted off to sleep. Early the next morning, at the break of day Claire made an early start on the road. The day had yet to warm and there was a distinct autumnal chill as she left the single track roads and rejoined civilisation. Claire turned on the radio in the car and listened to the news.

 

“ _Mountain rescue teams in Inverness-shire have been called out in search of two hillwalkers who are missing. The two hillwalkers had told friends they would be off the mountain by dark but failed to report in and attempts to reach them have been unsuccessful. Our programme understand that search teams from Lochaber and Cairngorm are being brought in to help with the effort.”_

 

Claire sighed as the roads got wider and faster and before she knew it the scenery of the highlands was speeding past. Down into Perthshire and big tree country and then on into the central belt. It felt odd to be here. Everything seemed different, felt different than it had when she had left only a few days before. The flatter undulating land felt wrong, the air was more polluted, the water plain and boring. As she approached Edinburgh the traffic got heavier and as the traffic report announced a major accident, Claire longed for the quiet and peace and tranquility of the place she had just left.

 

The following day, Claire had a day off. She made sure her report to Geilis had been sent and then headed into the city centre to start her research but as she got off the bus in Princes Street with the intention of walking to the National Library, the nearby Arthur's Seat called to her and Claire found herself walking down the Royal Mile, past the old house of John Knox and the tartan tourist shops and the closes. Claire paused at the wall of the Scottish Parliament compound to read the quotes embedded in the wall and then on into Holyrood Park and up the surprisingly busy summit path. Here, in the glen between Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crags, Claire could hardly tell that she was in the middle of a city and for the briefest of moments she wondered what it would have been like two hundred and fifty years ago, when wild highlanders were said to have invaded the city with Bonnie Prince Charlie. Up the steeper mid-slope, Claire climbed until at last she ascended to the last rocky section and the summit. The top was busy, even on a midweek autumn day. Tourists and local walkers mingled, pausing for breath and taking in the view. Claire's eyes knew where to turn. The Lomand hills to the North West, the Paps of Fife to the North East and between them the Trossachs beyond which, far to the north, half a country away, lay the little estate of Lallybroch. Her mind recalled the sight of Jamie Fraser's highland cows, the fresh scent of the air, the particular colour of the sunset lighting up the muir, the sound of Murtagh's quadbike and the barking of the sheepdogs. The little hillock, with the standing stones and the sound of shinty sticks clashing in the moonlight.

 

Later she went to the bookshop and purchased a number of books on highland history and land issues along with a little book nearby on plant lore. Over the weekend Claire started doing her reading and continued her sideline as she went back to work on Monday and caught up with the rest of her workload. Night after night she came home exhausted from office work, telephone calls and the sticky-mouthed dehydration of too much air conditioning. Paperwork, contractors, regulations and over a glass of wine pored over one book after another of highland history and culture. She read about the clearances and the Napier Commission, the Highland Land League and the Crofters War, the First World War and the land raids of Raasay, Skye and elsewhere. As soon as the weekend hit, without much thought, Claire Beauchamp jumped in her car and leaving on Friday after work, headed out of the central belt heading north late into the night. Some time around midnight she pulled into a small, rough lane that wound up a hillside towards a remote croft with two chimneys and a small heard of lowing cattle nearby. A noise caught her attention from a wooded hillock nearby but Claire told herself to pay it no mind and, taking a chance, found herself knocking on the distinctive red door.

 

 

There was no answer, and so she knocked again. At length sleepy footsteps shuffled towards the door and the door opened to reveal a towsel-haired Jamie Fraser wearing boxers and a t-shirt and squinting into the night. “Aye?” His eyes caught sight of Claire and widened. “Sassenach?”  
  
All of a sudden Claire found herself feeling rather nervous and for the first time that night wondered exactly what she had been thinking coming all of this way unannounced only to realise that she hadn't really been thinking at all. She had come here entirely on instinct to see the only person in her life recently who made anything make any sense. “Can I come in?”

 

* * *

 

 

Music: Camhanaich Air Machair by Duncan Chisholm from the album Canaich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Napier Commission reports of 1883 and 1884 were digitalised and put online in PDF format by Lochaber College Mallaig in 2007, now part of the University of the Highlands and Islands. The PDF's are available for free on their website:  
> https://www.whc.uhi.ac.uk/research/napier-commission


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going forwards I can't promise I will be posting a chapter every week due to writing time, RL, etc. but if I can I will. Thank you for your patience.

Act for Winter Herding 1686

_"Our soveraigne lord, considering the prejudice and damnage which the lieges doe sustaine in there planting and inclosurs through the not herding of nolt, sheep and other bestial in the winter tyme, wherby the young trees and hedges are eaten and destroyed, doeth, with advice and consent of his estates of parliament, statute and ordaine that all heretors, liferenters, tenents, cotters and other possessors of lands or houses shall cause herd there horses, nolt, sheep, suyne and goats the wholl year, alse weell in winter as in summer, and in the night tyme shall cause keep the same in houses, folds or inclosures, soe as they may not eat or destroy their nighboures' ground, woods, hedges or planting, certifieing such as contraveen they shall be lyable to pay halfe a merk toties quoties for ilke beast they shall have goeing on their neighboures' ground, by and attour the damnage done to the grass or planting, and declares that it shall be laufull to the heretor or possessor of the ground to detaine the said beasts untill he be payed of the said halfe merk for ilke beast found upon his ground, and of his expences in keeping of the same, and this but prejudice of any former acts of parliament made against destroyers of planting and inclosures."_

 

* * *

 

 

Chapter 15

  
The house was dark, the fire was out. The knocking on his door, however, was unrelenting and with great reluctance Jamie forced himself from the warmth of his bed and padded through the cold house to answer the door.

His heart lept, his stomach clenched, his eyes drank her in. Claire looked tired, and weary, and hopeful. “Can I come in?''

What else could he do?

People would talk, he thought. Strange women coming knocking on his door in the dead of night. Right now though, that was the least of his problems.

When she came inside he nudged the door closed and stood close to her. Jamie couldn't help but allow himself a moment. Her whisky eyes were warm and inviting, her hair a tumbledown mess that looked like it had been put up this morning before work and gradually come to pieces. Little curls tucking themselves about her neck that made him want to reach out and touch. Urging himself away, Jamie closed the door over and walked away towards the kitchen.

He needed to think.

The B&B would be closed, it was nearly midnight, and it wouldn't be fair to awaken Mrs Baird.

The sofa was uncomfortable, at least for sleeping, but he could manage it if required. Better yet, he may as well lay some blankets on the floor in front of the fireplace. He'd slept in worse. If Claire could give him some time he could strip the bed and make it up with fresh linens...

Tea.

Jamie told his mind to stop racing and focused on something simple and centreing. Claire liked tea. He shouldn't presume. Claire could be here for any number of reasons. Jamie risked a glance over his shoulder and noted she seemed pertubed at the distance he had put between them.

“Put your things down and have a seat. I'll make us a cuppa, aye?”

“You're not going to lock the door?”

“Nobody locks their door round here,” Jamie shook his head and his curls moved, twisting along with the smirk that tugged at his face, but seeing her worried frown Jamie set down the teapot and turned towards her. “Sassenach...Claire...you're perfectly safe. I would never let anything happen to you, let alone under my own roof.”

Claire smiled to herself and nodded, but it was accompanied by a motion where she wound her arms around herself and rubbed a palm against the opposite upper arm. A self-comforting tell. ' _Well_ ,' he thought, ' _You and me both_.'

Jamie took himself through the familiar motions of making the tea. Was she here for sex? Was that it? Was she here because the B&B was full and she needed to do more research for her little report? Was the sound of the kids shinty match tomorrow morning so enticing?

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was coming.”

“It's fine Claire.”

“You're not acting like it's fine.”

“I was raised better than to turn away a stranger in need at the door. You need a place to sleep for the night and I can't offer you much, but I can offer you that. And it might not be much warmer than the byre but I like to think it does at least smell better.” Jamie noted with a wry smile, “Though you'd likely be warmer wi' the cows. It's fine though, I can sleep in the front room if needed-”

“I needed to see you,” Claire cut across him and Jamie stopped.

He stopped and took in a long slow breath, and then began bringing the tea and all the things to the table. Mugs. Milk. Sugar. Claire's eye watched him, watched him pour her tea, watched his lips moved as he asked if it was too her liking. It was intense, her gaze. Focused in way he wasn't prepared for. Jamie found himself nodding but he took his own mug away and stood leaning against the counter, leaving Claire clean across the room at the kitchen table.

His mind raced, his heart wasn't doing much better and seeing here in his own kitchen wasn't helping.

“I apologise if I seem a little off,” Jamie said quietly, “It's good to see you, Sassenach.”

“If it's not convenient-” Claire stared at her tea. There was one single weak light on and everything seemed different in the half-dark. “I woke you up didn't I?”

“No matter.” Jamie's eyes smiled, but his mouth didn't. “So, what brings you here?”

Claire's eyes stared at Jamie in complete bewilderment. “What do you mean why am I here?”

“It's not a complicated question, Claire.”

“Hah!” Claire stood up. Needing to move she began to pace the room, opposite where Jamie was standing. “I came because I needed to see you and I can't explain it and I don't think I want to but there it is. And I thought, I hoped, you would want to see me too.”

“I do,” Jamie insisted.

“Then when are we standing here talking instead of-” Claire waved a hand in the direction of the bedroom. He could see the moment the thought occurred to her. The moment she marched across the room, across the hall and threw open the bedroom door to reveal his empty bed and the twisted sheets.

Jamie stood in the kitchen and watched her shoulders slump. In relief or something else he didn't know. Could it be disgust. Could he disgust her? Jamie hoped not. Carefully he followed in her wake and brushed past her to sit on the bed. His bed.

Twenty minutes ago he'd been sound asleep. He could see the confusion and disappointment on her face, could see the growing thought in her eyes that he simply didn't want her.

Jamie tore his eyes away and stared at his hands. Scarred hands. But those scars were the least of his problems. The ones on his back, the ones on his hands, the ones people could see. Her arrival had startled him in ways that Jamie knew Claire could have no idea about. It didn't matter if it was rational or not, it was real enough to the heart that raced, the senses that jumped at the slightest bump in the night.

Jamie sighed heavily. Claire's mind was so clear in her eyes that every time he looked at her he could read it like his own and yet he barely knew her, really. But there it was. Was she thinking of their kiss? The night he had tried to walk her home? The warm smiles they had shared? Now in the cold chill night the warmth was gone and there was only distance and awkwardness. Silently Jamie reached out a hand, and nodded a head towards the bed. At length Claire came and carefully sat down beside him.

Jamie sighed heavily again and stared out the window. The moonlight was glistening off the waters of the lochan, light enough almost to work by. “Claire, your interest flatters me but I ken I'm no' much ae a prospect.”

Jamie felt her clasp his hand in his as if in protest and Jamie allowed it, though it made his heart pound out of his chest again. Claire's body language, her deep intake of breath told him she was going to fight him on this point and Jamie didn't have the energy for it. The truth would have to do. He knew what this was, they'd talked about it in therapy and if Claire was going to do things like turn up unannounced in the middle of the night the woman may as well know as well. But of all the moments for his fight or flight response to kick in... “Claire,” Jamie said quietly, “I live with PTSD.” Watching her eyes understanding bloomed behind them but not what Jamie had expected, not the dreaded pity. A sob welled in his chest and Jamie wished not for the first time that this bastard condition didn't bring his emotions so close to the surface.

Beside him, Claire's hand reached for his wrist and silently took his pulse. When she was done she looked Jamie in the eyes and then made her apology. “Your pulse is racing. I startled you, didn't I?”

“No matter,” A weak smile broke. “I can lay some blankets in front of the fire and let you have the bed.”

“You'll do no such thing, Solider. Sit where you are. Doctor's orders. Let me get your tea.”

And from that moment on, Claire slipped into professional-First-Aider mode. Making him drink his tea, making him eat something, making him lie down. Lying on his back, rested and fed he watched this woman in the moonlight and a strange sort of calm fell over him. It was odd to think they had only just recently met. It felt like they had known each other for longer than that. Jamie watched her havering, equivocating, casting wee tentative glances at the bed.

“I don't mind if you don't,” Jamie said quietly.

Claire gave him a curt nod and then headed off to the bathroom, returning dressed in old fashioned button up pyjamas. Suitably warm for a chilly autumn night.

The bed dipped as she slipped in and Jamie scooted back. It had been a long time since he'd shared a bed that didn't involve a tarp and a campfire and bad memories came back of Laoghaire Mackenzie and her awful grabby hands. Thankfully Claire seemed to have a bit more respect for his honour than that. A hand touched his wrist and he realised she was checking his pulse again. If it was fast now, Jamie knew it was for a different reason than before as warmth and amusement bloomed in his chest.

“Someone's feeling better,” Claire commented.

There was a curious attractiveness to the way she bedded down for the night, Jamie decided. Having her here, all he wanted was to put his arm around her and let Claire snuggle into his chest.

Across the small queen sized bed Claire tried to use humour to keep herself calm. Alright, there had been a small part of her that had been hoping for a dirty weekend with an attractive man and her plans for tonight hadn't really involved flannel pyjamas and checking his health. Lying down she shuffled until she was comfortable and tried not to think of the wet arousal between her thighs, of the heat his body was giving off. There was no small part of her that hoped Jamie might try his luck. It had been far too long and the thought of trying to get to sleep now with Jamie's presence so close wasn't helping. Besides, as Jamie had made clear himself now was hardly the time. If she was alone she would deal with it herself but far from being alone she was lying in Jamie Fraser's bed with his restless eyes watching the back of her head.

“Are you always this restless at night?” Jamie queried from his pillow.

Claire fluffed her own and relaid her head. “Sorry.”

“Sassenach. I'm not going to jump you in the middle of the night.”

 _'Mores the pity...'_ Claire thought to herself.

“If I'm making you uncomfortable I can still go and set up some blankets on the living room floor?”

“It's fine,” Claire insisted. “Goodnight.”

Jamie watched her curls splay across the pillow and realised he wanted her. Wanted to be near her, to be inside her, wanted to play with her hair and watch the way her eyes darkened when aroused. Wanted to hug her, and cradle her and hold her for no reason. Wanted to show her his world, the horses, his family. His home. What, he realised, he had already been doing by the time she left here a week ago. Jamie sighed heavily and watched her settle in from the narrow distance that seemed to be more than a mere few inches. What of the estate? What of Charles Stuart? What of the matter of the sale and the buyout and the prospect of Claire as a new Factor? And then there was her, lying here, just a woman in his bed. An intelligent woman. A woman that he wanted. Not some girl, an adult who had lived in the world and knew its hurts and turmoil. Would she want him too, Claire? Did she look at the poor crofter with naught but a modest wage and few acres of tenant farm and imagine him as someone she might want some day? The thought was depressing, and so Jamie cast it out of his mind and told himself to be grateful for what he had. Even if all he ever had was this.

“Goodnight, Sassenach.”

  
Jamie awoke first, early in the morning. Not knowing quite what to do, Jamie decided to do what he always did and got up. He opened the curtains but it was still half dark outside and so he slid out while Claire was still sleeping and went to use the bathroom before pulling on his farm overalls and heading out across the threshold of the front door to check on the cows. The ladies were happily breakfasting on the dewy grass and so he mucked out the byre as sky lightened. By the time Jamie was done the pale light of dawn was breaking, highlighting in shades of peach and gold a sky that promised high pressure and a calm day, a high cloud base.

Gentle light spilled out over the land. Morning, beautiful and new. The air was fresh and cool and teemed with the scent of damp earth and old vegetation that was thinking of dying back for the winter. Inside the cottage, Jamie stripped off his overall and poked his head into the bedroom where Claire Beauchamp slept soundly on his pillow.

Jamie smiled to himself as he went off for a shower. Indulging himself he let himself think of Claire and felt a lot more relaxed by the time he got out and wrapped a towel around his waist for the sake of decency. Softly his feet padded through his homely little cottage and into the bedroom where the gentle morning light was now streaming in through the open curtains, spilling all over Claire's face where it lay in the bed. Dressed only in his towel, Jamie stood leaning against the doorway enjoying the way his chest filled with warmth at the sight of her. Claire was here, because she wanted to be here. A smile grew as Claire began to stir at the daylight that was gently waking her from her slumber. A little whimper, a stretch, a hand reaching across the bed.

Jamie looked to the floor and grinned. Oh she missed him in bed after one night, did she? Well if there was ever a cause for optimism...

* * *

 

 

Music: O Luaidh, traditional Scots Gaelic song as sung by Kathleen MacInnes on her album Summer Dawn. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nic0nQyVglg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act for Winter Herding 1686 (http://www.rps.ac.uk/search.php?action=print&id=48380&filename=jamesvii_ms&type=ms) sourced from the University of Saint Andrews, Records of the Parliaments of Scotland project. (www.rps.ac.uk)


	16. Chapter 16

_"Shinty Rules And Regulations_

_Byelaw 5: CODES OF CONDUCT_

 

_5.3 CODE FOR PLAYERS_

_5.3.1 Be positive; always try to make the game better for yourself and your team._

_5.3.2 Abide by the laws of the game. Respecting decisions of match officials. The abuse of match officials is unacceptable._

_5.3.3 Control your temper - use of foul language brings the game into disrepute._

_5.3.4 Be a good sport - respect all good performance, whether by your team or by the opposition._

_5.3.5 The aim of playing is to have fun, improve your skills and do your best. At the end of play, thank your opponents and the match officials for their involvement._

_5.3.6 Win with humility - Lose with dignity."_

 

 

**Chapter 16**

 

 

 

Claire came around slowly, stretched and let out a little grunt before snuggling back under the wamrth of the covers as she opened her eyes to the sight of Jamie Fraser, freshly showered, standing in nothing more than a towel wrapped kilt-like around his waist. His figure was muscled in the way of someone who was used to doing long hours of physical labour, long runners legs and strong shoulders. His skin was pale and freckled, with the hint of tan lines on his arms from working outside in the summer. Claire could at once see why he might keep his shirt on even in warmer weather. Scars riddled his body creased and stretched with every movement, lines of white, cream and pink scar tissue clung to his ribs, coming around from his back. Slightly embarrassed at her own staring, Claire lifted her eyes to meet his and found Jamie’s eyes tentative, waiting for her reaction.

 

Claire stared back calmly and realised what Jamie was doing. The mental scars she couldn’t see, although they could talk about those later if he was ready. The physical scars were another matter. For all that Jamie looked strong and imposing, a physical man with a physical job, dealing with stallions and guns and the physical labour of infrastructure projects, Claire was beginning to understand that there was another side to him. Shy, quiet, private. Thoughtful. The man who stalked the moors and spent long quiet hours with the horses and ponies. What was it his sister had said about him having few relationships? Living like a monk? Something went through her, a fierce and profound strike through her heart of the extraordinary privilege that a man like Jamie who had endured whatever he had endured was willing to show her who he was, show her his scars before this went anywhere.

 

“I need to know,” Jamie said quietly. “If this is okay with you.”

 

Claire wished she could touch him, wished him closer to her. What medical training she had had and the odd self-indulgent night wallowing with a medical textbook at the thought of the career that might have been gave her some understanding of what he must have endured. But Jamie just stood there, letting her take him in. Warm eyes watched her, mellow and a glint of something else in there. Wariness. Hope. With a shoulder Jamie pushed himself off the door and, not taking his eyes off her, walked slowly toward the bed. Claire took in a deep breath. Her mouth went dry, her stomach flipped, arousal stirred within her as he approached. Jamie's body was spectacular and horrifying. His eyes seemed to be waiting for something, some sort of backlash, but all Claire could feel was acceptance and she sat up in bed as he approached and stopped beside her. This was who he was, scars and all and she still felt that draw. Reaching out her hand touched Jamie's chest, her fingers brushing a nipple as he sat down on the edge of the bed with his back half-turned towards her.

 

Claire let out a gasp.

 

“Aye,” Jamie nodded, “That’s why I needed to know.”

 

Curious fingers met his ribs, warm from sleep. Professional, yet tender. She wondered how much he felt from his scar tissue. If he ate the right things. Was he looking after himself? But all the worries that filled her heart for his welfare made her realise the one thing she need to tell Jamie. “Of course its okay, Jamie.”

 

”Aye?”

 

”Aye,” Claire mimicked him. “Now stop teasing and kiss me,” Claire told him and Jamie did. Leaning down over her, Claire’s arm came around his shoulder to hold him to her as his warm lip pressed softly to hers. The kiss was tentative and unsure, the briefest brush of warm lips and then was gone. Claire wanted him to touch her, wanted it badly and she waited on tenterhooks for him to make a move that didn't come.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Claire searched Jamie’s eyes and found them changed. Quiet elation bloomed in his face, joy in the wrinkles of his crows feet and he swallowed hard, seemingly not trusting himself with words.

 

Jamie tucked a curl of hair away from her eyes. A finger traced down the line of her small ears, her long delicate neck to the point where her collar bone peeked out from behind the high buttoned collar of her pyjama top. “Good morning, Sassenach.”

 

“Mmm,” Claire snuggled down into the bed and smiled. “Come back to bed.”

 

Jamie obeyed her, laying down on top of the covers and finding Claire snuggling into his arms.

 

“Iraq?” Claire asked quietly.

 

“Aye,” Jamie grunted. He didn’t want to talk about it. Jamie wanted to lay here, drinking in her touch like a drowning man. God how he had missed being touched. Her warm body pressed up to his, warm muscle and soft fat, the press of her cheek against his shoulder. The way her hand roamed slowly over his chest in lazy circles that would have driven him mad with lust if he hadn’t just wanked off in the shower. Jamie chuckled to himself at how terribly he’d misjudged that.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Claire’s hand drifted lower, teasing at the edge of the towel causing laughter to once more rumble out of Jamie’s chest. Claire could feel the movement underneath her head as the amusement moved through him. “Sorry, Sassenach. You’re about ten minutes and a hot shower too late for that.”

 

A small sigh of frustration escaped her lips.

 

“Well,” He hedged. One hand snuck under the covers where she lay against him. “Doesn’t mean we can’t be a little...creative.” Jamie’s hand found the gap between her pyjama top and her pyjama pants.

 

Claire wriggled to press herself into his touch. She was down with creative.

 

 

Later, over porridge, Claire found herself blushing every time she looked up and found Jamie salaciously using his tongue to eat his breakfast. She tore her gaze away for the hundredth time and pretended she wasn’t enjoying the ridiculous innuendo quite as much as Jamie was.

 

“Stop that,” Claire hissed across the table.

 

“I thought you said I needed practice?”

 

Claire felt the blush rise to the tips of her ears, “I didn’t mean right now,” she said, mumbling into her porridge loud enough for Jamie to hear.

 

Jamie’s porridge eating descended into a delightful chuckle of amusement that went right through her and reminded her of what they had been doing not half an hour before. Claire was a full grown woman who had been married and divorced. There was absolutely no reason for her not to be able to look Jamie in the eye although perhaps she could have kept her honest assessment of his abilities to a more opportune moment. 

 

“What was it you said?” Jamie paused thoughtfully, “Points for enthusiasm?”

 

Claire opened her mouth to protest but as soon as she met Jamie’s eye all words escaped her. His gaze was focused; light, joyous and yet intense. Teasing. On his part, Jamie tried to use humour to ease the embarrassment of not quite living up to Claire’s standards. Jamie’s short quota of experience he assessed, was more full of immature girls who liked his physique than experienced women who were interested in _him_. Claire was very much the latter. Her maturity, her confidence, her experience drew him to her even if part of him still felt somewhat inadequate in that regard. But she had come here, hadn’t she? And that thought alone brought a little bit of hope to Jamie’s heart every time the doubt crept forth.

 

“Sassenach,” Claire heard Jamie clear his throat, “Thank you for coming.”

 

Claire narrowed his eyes at him and Jamie began to stutter.

 

“I didn’t meant it like that!”

 

She raised her eyebrows and Jamie shook his head with a snort. God, his sister was going to know in an instant.

 

 

 

At the shinty match, the weather was a properly cold, damp autumn morning with a hint of hoar frost. Jamie ignored the odd looks Claire was giving him for wearing shorts when it was barely three degrees celcius and at least ninety percent humidity. The local kids were playing a visiting team from Sutherland who were still en-route due to being stuck behind a wind turbine blade all the way down the road. Apparently. Jamie had arrived with Claire at the school playing field in plenty of time to retrieve the necessary equipment from storage for a quick pre-match warm up. Kids began to arrive, some walking and some being driven. All in various states of preparedness. Jamie patiently fixed helmets, tied shoelaces and chatted with parents. When the opposition arrived it was a petite mini-bus crammed full of kids and coaches who piled out onto the pitch, followed by a stream of cars belonging to the opposing team’s supportive parents, many of whom clearly knew most of the locals. Janet and Ian arrived with wee Jamie, and Jenny’s eyes immediately zoned in on Claire as her son ran out to join the rest of his team.

 

“Claire,” Janet gave her a curt nod. Jenny’s eyes went from Claire to her brother out on the pitch where Jamie’s eyes met his sister’s but a small shake of the head told her to drop it and he immediately went back to talking to the kids. Janet said nothing, but settled in beside her, staring off across the sports field. Claire had little doubt that Janet would pick the matter up later.

 

“Morning Claire,” Ian greeted her. Claire smiled back but Ian was already turned the other way, talking to some other parent. A stoutly built middle aged woman who looked liked she could hold her own in a scrape. Claire listened to them talk intensely for a few moments about her family’s fish farm and then tuned out.

 

“Ian went to school with her brother’s cousin,” Janet jerked her head towards the other parent, which seemed to pass as an introduction for Claire, as if this explained who the stranger was.

 

“Her brother’s cousin?”

  
“Half brother, technically.” Janet shrugged, “Most people know each other somehow in the highlands. Claire listened around and was intrigued to note a few conversations in Gaelic. Claire settled into watching the match. Kiran came over and said hello and fell into conversation with Janet about pulling the small business community together around the buyout.

 

On the pitch, Jamie seemed to be pulling the team together for a pre-match pep talk. “Now, because I’m refereeing today I’ll have to treat you more harshly, being your coach as well. Remember your places, watch your sticks and lets try and avoid too many concussions, aye? Ossian, Tomasz, lets see if you can work your magic and get us a few early points. Eilidh you’ll take the first half in goal.”

 

Claire began to wonder what she was letting herself in for here, but she found herself smiling watching how focused Jamie looked with his whistle and his stopwatch. Under-12’s shinty turned out to be a delightful and terrifying experience. Sticks and balls began flying, muddy scrapes and tussles got broken up. The kids frequently fell out of position, helmets got bumped, knees bruised and sticks and body-parts made contact. In spite of there being a trained first aider from the opposition team, Claire found herself going over to help examine a twisted ankle when the official first aider was preoccupied with cleaning a muddy cut on another player’s leg.

 

At one point Ian settled in beside Claire on the sidelines, shouting wee Jamie on. Jamie lined the ball up, slid his hands together at the top of the stick and whacked the ball for all he was worth and setting up the home team for another score. Ian turned to her and grinned, “So, you and Jamie then? Janet did say we might be seeing a bit more of you.”

 

“We haven’t really talked about it to be honest,” Claire responded.

 

The air was damp and cold but it was fresh and she might be freezing, but standing here in good company and good spirits she felt more relaxed than she had any right to be. The trees that lined the school playing field were beginning to turn in anticipation of what Claire expected to be quite the spectacular display of autumn colour. In the distance the hills hid behind low-lying clouds that hugged to the shoulders of the mountains but there was no hint of rain and the patches of blue sky hinted at the prospect of a clear, calm day once the day wore on a little.

 

“How’s the buyout coming along?”

 

Ian presented Claire with a newspaper, that week’s copy of The Highland Herald. She looked at Ian and then accepted the newspaper and began to read.

 

_**Lallybroch Estate Community Buyout?** _

 

_The Highland Herald understands from local residents that the crofters of Lalllybroch Estate are considering utilising Scotland’s Community Land Buyout legislation after Lallybroch Estate was put up for sale last week. While the proposal is still in its earliest stages, strong support was expressed for the idea at an impromtu meeting of local residents and small businesses at Broch Mordha Scout Hall. Speaking on condition of anonymity, one local small business owner told the Highland Herald that the approach of Lallybroch Estate in recent years had stifled economic development in the area. However, the idea of  buyout is not universally popular. Another local resident who had recently moved into the area from the English Midlands expressed their concern that the beautiful scenery they had moved to the area to enjoy would be spoiled by the sort of renewable projects that had sprung up in so many other areas where Community Land Buyouts had been successful. But Janet Fraser of the local Lallybroch Crofting Tenants Association insisted that all options had to remain open for the future of the estate. “Like so many areas of the Highlands, Broch Mordha is struggling to keep young families in the area and provide jobs for local people. We can’t start ruling things out before we’ve even got started. Economic development and local investment have to be considered a priority for our community to have any sort of future.”_

 

Claire looked up at Ian.

 

“Read on,” He prompted her.

 

“ _If the locals want to pitch a buyout they’ll have to be quick, however. The Highland Herald understands that representatives from the US tycoon Charles Stuart have already been seen scouting the Lallybroch Estate, spending several days in the area examining the property and the game opportunities. Charles Stuart is known as a keen hunting enthusiast and a loud anti-renewables campaigner who has controversial links to anti-climate change lobby groups in the United States...”_

 

Claire closed the newspaper. On the pitch Jamie blew his whistle sharply at a particularly bad fowl and pulled out a yellow card at the protesting opposition player. A round of shouts from the visiting parents went out in protest.

 

“If it makes any difference,” Ian told her with a wry smile, “People round here only read the paper to see if they get the news right.”

 

“I’m hardly working for Charles Stuart, Ian. I was contracted to do a job and I did it,” Claire heard another succession of whistles. There was plenty of supportive encouragement from the parents on all sides as the match continued, but two more yellows were pulled and a stern warning from Jamie told the players that next one would be a red card. The match was getting scrappy and as sticks clashed it was perfectly clear Jamie was busy trying to stop the match descending into a scrappy free-for-all.

 

“Claire, like it or lump it anyone who knows Jamie can see that he’s smitten wi’ ye. Jamie’s respected round here. He’s got old Highland tradition in his blood, he served in the local Regiment and he’s well educated. People look up to him. More than that he’s a good man, who has always been fair to the local businesses and the tenants in job on the estate. More than can be said for Dougal Mackenzie, I’m sorry to say. And yet out there, on the shinty pitch, all those people who know him and respect him and trust him will give him an earful for fair decisions, because he’s the Ref today. Least popular man on the pitch, Claire. They dinnae mean it, well they do but not...”

 

“I know what you mean,” Claire stepped in.

 

“You and Jamie like each other and that’s fine although Janet might prefer he hadn’t picked such a one as yourself in the present climate, but if you’re his choice she’ll respect that for Jamie. But you ought to know, the both of you, that it might not solely be the two of you as takes an interest in it if things continue between you.” Ian tapped the paper meaningfully.

 

Claire hadn’t thought about that. About putting her own name into the papers, about making things complicated for Jamie in the local community. With only a few points in it, Jamie’s whistle blew again at another pitched battled that resulted in blood and the red card came out, prompting a roar of disapproval from watching local parents as the Broch Mordha star player made the walk of shame off the pitch for dangerous play. Claire watched Jamie’s shoulders slump with a sigh. His eyes cast across the sideline and seeing Claire he seemed to pause, take in a breath and pull himself together. Jamie’s eyes lingered on her for just a moment too long before he checked his stopwatch and awarded a free hit to the opposition.

 

 

Music: The Shinty Referee by Fergie Macdonald (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEsZa9426aE)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shinty Rules and Regulations available at the Camanacd Association website (https://www.shinty.com/mens/playing/rules-and-regulations). Byelaw 5 (https://www.shinty.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/02/BYELAW-5..pdf)


	17. Chapter 17

_“In September, Bridget MacKenzie wrote from Lednabirichen, west of Dornoch, to say that the great-great-grandmother of her second cousin, a retired shepherd who lives north of Lairg, had seen the clearance of Lettaidh in Strath Fleet from her home at Inchcape, high on the slope opposite: She remembered being woken by her mother and taken to the window, and she looked out into the darkness and saw a red glow in the hills opposite. She asked what it was, and her mother said in a grim voice, ‘They are putting fire to Lettaidh. The people have been put out.’ The child was frightened, naturally enough, since they had relatives in Lettaidh themselves, but she was reassured when told it would not happen to her house, since all the men were still there. All the men from Lettaidh had been recruited, by the Sutherland estate factors, to go to fight in the Napoleonic wars, and then the factors seized the chance to evict the women and children without fear of resistance. I had been far from sure that a veritable memory of the burning would come to light (1814 is called_ Bliadhna an Losgaidh _, the Year of the Burnings). But of course it did, and there was more to come.”_

Chapter 1, On the Crofter’s Trail, by David Craig, Birlinn Press (1990)

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Chapter 17**

 

In the end the match was a draw, to the disappointment of both the teams present and the time-honoured tradition of Highland Hospitality, the local parents had arranged post-match food for the players at the local Scout hall – Claire was becoming rather familiar with the place at this point. Little triangles of sandwich ham and cheddar cheese sandwiches washed down with catering-sized tins of cream of tomato soup and diluted fruit juice. By the time the visiting team was piling back onto the minibus and Janet Fraser had finished listening to grumbles about the juice being too weak, she was beginning to look a bit overwhelmed and so Claire took it upon herself to start helping to clear rubbish and paper plates along with some of the other parents as the final bits of food were dished out to a few of the last children to leave.

 

Across the room, Ian was taking a seat to relieve his stump while Jamie gathered together the inevitable lost items left behind by distracted children and parents. “Will you be coming to the croft for some proper lunch then, Jamie?”

 

“I’d need to ask Claire,” Jamie responded without thinking. “I still have to speak to her about visiting the bothy, but if we’re going to make it before dark I doubt we’ll have the time, unfortunately. It’s a good four hour hike from Broch Mordha and the days aren’t exactly getting any longer.”

 

Already, from week to week, the autumn nights were beginning to draw in. They were already several weeks past the equinox and by the middle of December there would be barely six hours of light to a day.

 

When Jamie looked up he saw Ian was smirking at him and, confused, Jamie’s brows drew together. “What?”

 

“Nothing, Brother.” Ian patted Jamie’s arm where it was within reach.

 

Claire appeared a moment later, instinctively sliding an arm around Jamie’s waist and Ian noted the way that Jamie seemed to melt into her touch. His whole body shifted slightly towards her, turning to face her, making space for her, joy lighting Jamie’s face at her presence. Claire didn’t exactly look put off either.

 

“Sassenach,” Jamie smiled. He linked his hand into hers and led her outside where the touching turned to kissing only to be interrupted by one of the kids yelling at Jamie about having a girlfriend.

 

Claire broke off giggling as the kid ran off with friends and the laughter in Jamie’s eyes was reflected in her own.

 

“Sorry,” Jamie muttered. “No such thing as privacy in a small town.”

 

“It’s fine. But since we’re out here, I was going to ask you if we have plans for the rest of the day?”

 

Jamie sighed and looked off into the distant hills. _‘_ _We.’_ He liked the sound of that. “Well, Janet and Ian have invited us over for lunch but yesterday, before you turned up, I told Dougal I’d visit The Bothy this weekend. Check it out for the Season. It’s a shelter we use for culling hinds on the far side of the estate. It is rather basic, and I’d understand if you don’t want to come or you’d rather I rescheduled it.”

 

Given the choice of socialising, even with Jamie’s family, or trekking out across a hillside with only the two of them for company Claire knew which she would prefer. Jamie’s family were lovely in their own way but they were also numerous, noisy and there was a lot of family politics going on. Not to mention the added tension of the current status of the Estate and the Buyout. In the end after talking to Claire, Jamie told his sister that they would join the Murray Frasers for Sunday Lunch the following afternoon and with time running short, made a quick stop back at Jamie’s for some overnight basics before heading to the Big House. His pack it turned out was already made up and Jamie added Claire’s overnight essentials into the rucksack. At Lallybroch House, Jamie and Claire said hello to Mrs Fitz who had prepared Jamie plenty of food and got the ponies ready. There was a collection of basic tools Jamie wanted to bring along but most of the ponies’ burden was made up of firewood.

 

“It’s pretty basic,” Jamie warned Claire again as he strapped the two sleeping bags and bed rolls to the horse’s packs.

 

“I think you’ll find I cope rather well with ‘basic’,” Claire insisted. Next, in passing, Jamie asked her to check the first aid kit in their pack and Claire added some last minute extras from the supplies at the Big House. Extra alcohol wipes, insulating tape, another tick remover.

 

There was one last task and that was to pull out the Ordnance Survey Map and give Claire and Mrs Fitz a rundown of the expected route and destination and a time they expected to be home by tomorrow. Last but not least, Jamie checked out a rifle and ammunition. He made a series of confident checks that told Claire in an instant he knew exactly what he was doing and watched him store the ammunition away safely for when he would need it. “I’m not planning on culling hinds but Dougal would go spare if I had a chance at a kill and didn’t take it. We’ll be struggling to get the numbers we need this winter as it is,” Jamie explained. The rifle was left unloaded and once Jamie had shouldered his pack, carried it carefully so that it was pointed at the ground.

 

Claire felt rather useless with nothing to carry, so Jamie put her in charge of leading the ponies but no amount of protesting over Jamie’s shoulder would induce him to share the bulk of the carrying.

 

They set out under a dull grey sky. As autumn drew on, the hillsides were taking on a red hue as the green colour leached from the deciduous plants and as they settled into a rhythm and began to cover the miles Claire took pleasure in the peace and quiet of the hillside. The clean air, the feeling of the wind on her skin. Jamie had thankfully changed out of his shinty shorts and back into his kilt at the cottage, confessing that he could wear trousers but he rather liked the traditional attire of his ancestors.

 

As her eyes adjusted to being out on the muir again, Claire’s interest in plant biology began to make itself known. To Claire’s surprise, Jamie knew surprisingly little about the ecology of the place he called home, even though he all but ran the place. Oh, he knew the trees and the heather and what he was asked to kill but Claire took pleasure in finding bearberries on the rocks around the heather and explaining the different uses of its fruit and leaves. Further on, underneath a patch of mature heather in a marginal area that was less intensively managed, Claire lifted the branches of a tall mature heather bush to reveal the tiny and delicate orchid she called Lesser Twayblade. Many of the plants were well past their summer flowering prime but occasionally here or there was a well-sheltered or late-blooming plant that Claire patiently noted. Another well drained and rocky area held the remnants of Mountain Everlasting as it began to die back for the winter. Claire explained patiently the different types of plants, the ground they liked – calcerous or acidic, wet or dry. Nitrogen rich or nitrogen poor. The difference the geology made. The medicinal uses of each plant. Before long Jamie was pointing out plants he had walked by all his life without a second glance and asking questions about them.

 

“What about that one?”

 

“Heath Bedstraw. It smells nice when it’s in full flower so it was used to stuff mattresses. I’ve also heard it was used to curdle milk for cheese although I’ve never tried it myself.”

 

“And that one?”

 

“Tormentil. People mistake it for buttercup sometimes but the flowers petals are further apart, with space between them. The roots have tannins that can be used for dying leather and the leaves are often used to treat digestion problems.”

 

After a couple of hours of walking they came down for a rest in a glade of rich green grass with the stone ruins that told of human habitation. The round corners of a blackhouse could still be made out. The D-shaped enclosure of a kailyard. The plants, too, gave away hints of human habitation. There was a clump of the stinging nettles that so loved piles of fresh cattle dung but the ragwort, poisonous to grazing animals, told her it had been a long time since domesticated cattle had roamed this croft ir it would have been weeded out. Jamie set down the pack and Claire let the horses go to graze, giving herself time to get the measure of the place. There was even a rowan tree, a sign of white magic, planted so often by the door to keep black magic and ill will away from the dwelling.

 

Behind her Jamie wound his arms around her waist and settled his chin on her shoulder. “Tell me about that one.”

 

Claire shook her head and laughed. “Jamie Fraser you keep a herd of highland cattle. You know exactly what ragwort looks like.”

 

“Aye but I like hearing it from you,” Jamie smiled. “It makes me think of the wise women of old. They’d help the sick and women in labour. And they’d help the people know which herbs to gather in times of hardship.” It made Jamie think that she fit in this place, that she understood it, but he wasn’t ready to say it out loud yet. Could she, he wondered, one day feel at home here?

 

“I wonder whose house it was? And when they left?”

 

“Oh that’s easy. It was Murtagh’s grandmother’s grandmother’s place. Lived here with her sister opposite, so Murtagh says. Burnt out in the eighteen twenties or thereabout. Napoleonic war, I think,” Jamie shrugged.

 

Claire stopped, pulled away and turned around in Jamie’s arms. “You say it so casually.”

 

A strange look came over Jamie’s face then. A distance look, a curtain coming down. Closed off. “What am I meant to say?”

  
“Well I don’t know! Don’t you wonder? Don’t you wonder what it would be like if they were here? If Murtagh were here or, I don’t know, some of his cousins or...” Claire threw her hands up in the air. “Something!”

 

Jamie nodded quietly. Reserved. “Aye.”

 

Claire watched him, the way he stared off into the distance and avoided her gaze. The closed off expression when he looked at her. She put a hand on his forearm and he shuddered at the sensation of touch that seemed to go to his very soul.

 

“Everyday. There’s barely a highlander who doesn’t. Ian takes an interest in the history. Knows all the families who lived in each croft. Knows the names of the kids in the school today. Families that moved to Glasgow or Canada or Inverness. The men, you see, were still beholden to the Lairds. Feudal law, and all that. They were taken away to war in France and Spain and when they left their families were turfed out. Pregnant women, the elderly. Blind, disabled, all of them. What am I meant to say, Sassenach? That it upsets me? I have to live here. I have to make a living here and that means getting on with it.”

 

Claire let her eyes sink into his and could see how he was barely keeping it together. Quietly, she nodded and let the matter go. At Jamie’s encouragement Claire tentatively foraged a few of the herbs that seemed to have self-seeded in the time since its last habitation and they shared a few nibbles of the wild things gathered so far on their journey. As they prepared the horses to head off once more, Claire asked Jamie a question that had been gnawing at her mind.

 

“Jamie, not to sound disingenuous but why bring me here if it upsets you?”

 

“It doesn’t upset me, I like seeing you here.”

 

“Well it obviously does upset you,” Claire argued.

 

Jamie smiled sadly. “The Clearances are a fact of life up here, Sassenach. You learn to live with it.”

 

It seemed to Claire there were rather a lot of things Jamie was ‘learning to live with’. Not just the history, there was the landlord. His boss Dougal Mackenzie whom Claire had yet to hear a kind word about. His low pay. His war wounds. His mental health. His sister’s large family who, for all the Jamie clearly loved them were also clearly taking up a huge part of Jamie’s time and energy. Jamie seemed to live for everyone but himself and although he had pieced himself together in a manner of speaking, Claire didn’t miss the way that, for Jamie, looking after himself seemed to come at the bottom of the pile. When they started off again and Jamie’s face began to show signs of pain, Claire insisted that Jamie stop and let her check his shoulder. It was clearly swollen and sore when prodded.

 

Jamie was henceforth banned from carrying the pack, to his intense displeasure. “Sassenach! I cannae have you carrying my things.”

 

“And why not?”  
  
Jamie did a fine job of blustering and protesting and Claire did a fine job calling him out on it. “I’m tougher than you think I am. I can manage just fine and you’re helping no one by giving yourself an injury. Can you take paracetamol?”

 

“Aye,” Jamie’s shoulders fell. He looked rather disgruntled at the whole affair.

 

“Need I remind you that you’re still insisting on the possibility of shooting that rifle, and I’m pretty sure that doing in your own shoulder is the last thing you need.”

 

“I can manage.”

“I don’t want you to _manage_ , Jamie, I want you to be well.”

 

Jamie went silent at that and didn’t talk for a long time. He did what Claire told him to do and let her take on the pack and the ponies and tramped along at her side, casting her curious glances. Claire was quite sure in that moment that no one had ever said that to Jamie in a very long time. Staring off into the distance, some ten minutes later, Jamie broke the silence with a clearing of his throat.

 

“No one’s said that to me since my mother died.”

 

Claire wondered, then, if they were going to talk abut their history, their pasts. Their relationships. How they had gotten to this point without talking of their parents or their past relationships or their formative experiences Claire wasn’t sure but there was no time like the present. “I don’t remember my mother.”

 

“Oh?” It was polite. Too polite. Politely intensely curious.

 

“I’m an orphan,” Claire announced.

 

“Siblings?”

 

“Only child.”

 

“Cousins?”

  
“Not that I know of.”

 

At her side Jamie slid her hand into his.

 

“Maybe that’s why I seem to spend my life doing things that involve reaching out to other people. Maybe I’m looking for that connection I’ve never had,” Claire shrugged. “It’s strange to come here and feel like, well it feels like I connect to it. Which doesn’t make any sense when I’ve never been here before.”

 

“Someone once said, ‘home is where you feel most yourself’.”

 

“Home is a strange concept entirely. I’ve moved around all my life. I’ve never really had a ‘home’ as such. Not like you have. And yet I feel myself, as you put it, when I’m up here,” Claire announced. “The land, the landscape, the people. You. Your family. Is that odd?”

 

“Not as odd as you’d think,” Jamie stopped them both with a tug of the hand and looked into her eyes. His free hand came up and tucked back a stray curl from beside her ear.

 

Claire met his gaze and smiled back. It felt in a strange way like coming home. Like they had done this before in a past life. There weren’t words for what was between them. Not yet. It was too delicate, too tentative, too precarious – but it was there.

 

“Well then. Welcome home, Sassenach.”

 

* * *

 

 

Music - Hallaig by Martyn Bennett featuring Sorley Maclean from the Album 'Bothy Culture'. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzewXmgVzL4 The original poem is in Scots Gaelic, this is Sorley Maclean's English translation of his own poem. It is one of the most notable and important poems of the 20th century in Scotland.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel totally inadequate writing this chapter, it touches on things that I want to reflect in the story but the history of which is complex and emotive and that other people are better placed to write about. But I am just touching on it, and I'm trying to get that balance between respecting the fact that it happened and keeping the story moving along. Any feedback would be much appreciated. Anyone who is interested, there is a lot of further reading on the subject. The Napier Commission as quoted previously is a good place to start and I am happy to refer you to further reading on the subject. I would always encourage you to look at sources directly from the Gaeltacht first.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bothy Code was developed by the Mountain Bothy Association and was sourced from their website. Please see end notes for more details.

**Bothy Code**

_Respect the bothy_

_Respect other users_

_Respect the surroundings_

_Respect agreements with the Estate_

_Respect the restrictions on numbers_

_Bothies are not available for commercial groups_

 

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 18**

 

By the time they were closing in on the bothy, darkness had begun to fall. The evening was cooling, the dampness condensing on the windswept vegetation at their feet. Over the course of the day the cloud had begun to thicken. The day that had started out bright and clear with a high cloud base had become gloomier over the course of the afternoon until thick, heavy grey clouds hung low covering the tops of the surrounding hills and hiding the trig points from sight. As Claire and Jamie approached their destination, the wind that had become a constant feature of Claire’s life in her time at Lallybroch fell to nothing and all of a sudden there was an extra-ordinary silence and stillness about the place. Little dips in the land or gorges carved from hillwater runoff held rushes, sedges and bushes but not a bird so much as chirped to break the silence. Only the sound of their boots brushing against the heather sounded, the soft fall of the ponies hooves and the brushing of the fabric of their clothes as they moved through the gloaming.

 

“Jamie...” Claire looked around. The weather was giving her an ominous feeling. A light breath of air touched their hair and Claire saw Jamie turn his head and sniff the air carefully.

 

“Aye, smells like rain, right enough. It’s going to pour down any minute. We’ll need to try and make the bothy – it’s just over this rise.”

 

“Hopefully before the heavens open!” Claire lengthened her stride and the tired ponies, to their credit, bent their necks forward and picked up their pace to match. They crested over the top of a rise and there it was. A tiny single-storey stone cottage with a tin roof that was rusted and red in colour. The weather had long gotten the better of the zinc coating on the sheets of corrugated iron. It was perfectly situated on a gentle glade with a stream running through it leading down to a lochan. There was a stand of old mixed forest a few furlongs away, birch trees and Scots Pine, alder and rowan. Blackthorn and hazel. Claire imagined the foliage to be a beautiful mixture of mature greens and russet oranges as the autumn drew on, but the light was fading too fast to say for sure.

 

Somewhere far off a rumble of thunder threatened. They picked up their pace once more but barely a hundred yards from the door the torrential downpour unleashed. Typically the rain in Scotland was soft and gentle. Deceptively light. Sometimes it would be so fine you would barely notice it falling. Other times it was like an old friend, like a gentle caress on your face. Soft water dampening the ground with a careful touch. From time to time however, the weather patterns combined to bring warm, moist air from the south and cold arctic air together from the north. The swirling weather patterns would create deep areas of low pressure that carried in fronts of heavy, stormy weather from the Atlantic. The rain was cold, miserable and unrelenting. In moments the ground seemed to turn into a quagmire and they were soaked to the skin in the time it took to reach the front door.

 

“Door’s open!” Jamie called through the weather. “Drop the pack inside and we’ll unload the ponies!”

 

With two of them it was quick work, but even tolerating a few minutes of the conditions was miserable. Yet there was nothing for it. The wood was unloaded from the ponies packs and Jamie was quick to lead the animals inside the shelter. Claire took it upon herself to carry the wood in out of the rain and closed the door behind them.

 

Finally, taking in deep breaths, Claire had a chance to look around at their home for the weekend. Bare walls. A dirt floor and an open fire place above which a solitary pan hung on a chain and a string of clothes line was strung across the lintel from side to side. There were two small windows set high in the wall that looked out towards the lochan with only old single-paned glass keeping the weather out. Claire had to admit they looked like they’d been constructed long before window glass became common.

 

In the half light Jamie had conjured a head torch from somewhere and was using it to see to remove the ponies tack and check over their feet.

 

There was no electricity. No running water. No plumbing. No pantry, no cupboards, no cooker and no toilet.

 

In one corner there was the wooden shelf of what might have been a bed, if it had ever had a mattress. Behind the door was a solitary spade. Near the fireplace, a bucket and an axe.

 

“For water there’s a spring a hundred yards or so beyond the bothy. Once I’ve seen to the ponies I’ll get a fire started for you and go and dig a latrine.”

 

Claire watched Jamie’s hands move with expertise. With years of practice he undid buckles, removed leather tack, brushed a muzzle. Felt down a leg, patted a rump. Checked the tack for wear and tear and the ponies as well. There was something soothing about the careful but well practised motions. Something assuring, the confidence of a man who knew what he was doing. The ponies snuffled and probed at his pockets and Jamie laughed at them good naturedly and went to unpack a few oats from their supplies until they could be let out to graze.

 

Claire did a quick assessment. A latrine and fresh water would be their first priorities. Then a fire, food and getting dry. Admittedly she hadn’t been anywhere near a pit latrine since she was a child, but that wasn’t going to put her off. If Jamie could manage it there was no reason why she couldn’t as well.

 

“Well, no use two of us getting wet,” Claire picked up the spade. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and powder my nose.”

 

Jamie looked up. When their eyes met he looked half amused, half embarrassed.

 

Claire thought for a moment he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the right words. “You did say basic,” She pointed out.

 

Jamie snorted and stared at the ground and then back up at Claire’s face. Even clearly cold and uncomfortable, without the most basic comforts, he could see the woman rise to the challenge in the set of her jaw and the glean in her eye. His heart gave a thump and the butterflies started up low in his belly. An optimistic part of him gave thought to the warm crackle of a new fire and letting their clothes dry through the rest of the night. He tried to compose himself at the prospect of cuddling up for warmth. “I’ll get started on that fire then. Hopefully my tinder’s still useable.”

 

Claire was sure if she wasn’t halfway to hypothermia she’d be cracking bad jokes about dating right about now but there would be all night to talk once the practicalities were dealt with. Meanwhile Jamie reached into his sporran and removed a mobile phone sized tin. He opened it up to reveal a collection of old man’s beard lichen.

 

“Aye, it’ll do. And the firewood at the bottom should just about be dry,” Jamie continued.

 

“Right then,” Claire lifted the spade with as much enthusiasm as she could muster in the circumstances. “Might as well get started. I’m presuming we’re going with the ‘don’t shit on your own front door’ methodology here?”

 

“And not near the stream,” Jamie added, walking closer.

 

“Noted.”

 

When he reached Claire he removed the head torch from his head and placed it carefully around Claire’s skull.

 

Claire took in a deep breath. He smelled of horse and wet wool and fresh earth. What she wouldn’t give to be wrapped up in a warm sleeping bag with him right now. In a moment of fatigue, knowing there was work to be done before they could bed down for the night, Claire leaned her forehead into his shoulder for the briefest of moments.

 

Jamie hesitated and then his arms came up and wrapped her in his warm embrace, one hand cupping Claire’s head as his lips turned to kiss her soft brown curls, now dripping wet. “Sorry about the weather.”

 

“I might need a volunteer to help keep me warm when I get back,” Claire told Jamie’s shoulder.

 

Jamie smiled. “Aye?”

 

Claire leaned back and kissed him sweetly on the nose. “Aye.”

 

 

Digging a latrine in the middle of nowhere in a raging storm was not what Claire Beauchamp expected to be doing when she had set out from Edinburgh for the weekend the night before. But as she marched back towards the outline of the bothy the flickering yellow of the firelight promised her a warm welcome. In spite of the horrific conditions, the air was fresh and cool. There was clean water, shelter, the promise of a fire and a landscape that took your breath away. There was solitude, quiet and the best company she could hope for and even in spite of the storm, Claire wouldn’t swap it for all the florescent-lighting and air conditioning in the world. There was an authenticity here, an honesty, a history that called to her. Every clump of moss, every blade of grass, every drop of rain seemed to speak to her soul and she took in a deep lungful of breath before she opened the old wooden door and stepped inside to the warmth of a crackling fire.

 

 

When Claire arrived back the fire was well ablaze. The bucket was full of fresh water and sitting nearby to warm. Jamie’s jacket was off and hanging from a hook by the door. Jamie sat close to the fire feeding it wood, building it up from kindling to logs chopped small enough to give a good heat for cooking. Their sleeping bags were rolled out side by side on the sleeping platform and the food that Mrs Fitz had packed for them had been pulled out of the pack along with the camping utensils and toiletries they had packed.

 

Jamie’s tools were stored in one corner. The rifle set against a wall.

 

“Well, after heavy negotiating with the contractors over labour costs, five star toilet facilities have finally been installed in the scrub over the rise.”

 

Jamie grinned. “Five star is it?”

 

“Absolutely!” Claire set the spade down behind the door. “My Uncle was an archaeologist. After my parents died he used to take me with him whenever he went around the world digging in the uni holidays. I’m an expert at pit latrines I’ll have you know.” Without thinking Claire began to strip off her wet clothes as she talked until she felt a presence close to her and stopped. Jamie stood near her, a question in his eyes. Claire suddenly felt off-centre, unnerved, vulnerable. How was it he could do that to her with just a look? But a touch of his hand was all it took to settle her. Sharp, piercing blue eyes found hers, his hands on her waist. A small nod from Claire, and Jamie began undressing her with a reverence that quieted her. Jamie’s intent gaze made her intensely aware of his attraction in a way that made her feel vulnerable. She hadn’t, in truth, let anyone this close since the divorce.

 

“Jamie,” Claire hesitated, “There’s something I should tell you.” She glanced up at him, but the intensity and patience of his eyes only unsettled her further. There was a calmness and a certainty in the way he looked at her that both made Claire feel safe and made her heart clench. “I was married, before.” Claire watched Jamie watch her and then he gave her a little curt nod.

 

“Aye, I kent that.”

 

Confusion ran through Claire’s head. “How?” How could he possibly have known.

 

Jamie picked up her hand and traced the place where a tan line had yet to fade on the third finger. “You still wear his ring.”

 

Jamie had been more observant than Claire gave him credit for. “Sometimes. At work. With certain older clients they respect you more and they’re more comfortable dealing with a younger woman if they think she’s going home to a husband.”

 

“I thought widowed, perhaps,” Jamie traced the line on her hand, “I didn’t want to ask in case it was too soon.”

 

“Divorced.” Claire watched as something dark flashed through Jamie’s eyes at that.

 

“Did he mistreat you?”

 

“Not in that way. He wasn’t violent, he didn’t drink. He didn’t play games. He didn’t complain about my job or my career. He didn’t try and control me,” Claire paused and remembered the moment she had seen Frank and yet another female undergrad getting handsy with each other in his office on her way to meet him for lunch. “And he always wiped their lipstick off before coming home,” Claire smiled sadly, trying not to let her heart break yet again for the thousandth time.

 

Jamie watched her face, mapped every emotion that flickered through her eyes. There were no tears to trace away with his thumb, no sobs to comfort. There was only the slight sagging of shoulders, the closed off remoteness of a heart too often disappointed. He had nothing to say, there was nothing that he could say. Jamie could admit he had wanted her without knowing or asking if she was beholden to someone else. He could hardly complain that now, in knowing, he didn’t like the answer, no matter that his heart still rejoiced at the thought of Claire seeking him out. Acting on impulse alone Jamie did what his heart cried out to do and offered her the only solace he could, the solace of his body. One large, strong hand cupped her head, tangling in her curls and his thumb caressing her cheek.

 

Claire leaned into the solidness of him welcoming the sensation, the press of one cold and sodden body to another. After a few moments Jamie’s hands tentatively moved to continue undressing her piece by piece until she was naked, standing before him in the firelight. Jamie offered a ziplock bag with a dry t-shirt and underwear but Claire shook her head at him and let her hands fall to his own shirt, a question in her gaze.

 

Jamie could admit that he wanted her; he could also admit he hadn’t the nerve to make the first move. But as she stripped his clothes to reveal his body in all its battered glory, Jamie could tell where the gravity of the nights events were leading them. There were questions he should ask. Things he should say. Wouldn’t she rather have a bed than a dirt floor and a sleeping bag? Was she on contraception? What about condoms? Common sense things. Practicalities. It took him standing naked before her, her hands on his body to accept his mind letting down the final mental block keeping his own desires at bay. The part of him that was letting it happen without question. To realise she was open to him, but not pushing. Asking, but not leading. Claire wanted him to want her and Jamie’s eyes closed as his heart opened to the thoughts and passions he’d been holding back since they met. A shaking hand reached out to her ribs, then her breasts. Confidence grew as she responded to his nervous attempts to take the lead.

 

Touching turned to kissing, kissing turned to awkward stumbling towards the bed and then, bereft, Jamie found himself alone while Claire went to dig in her things for the condoms she’d packed for the weekend.

 

Hands on his back, the cold touch of wet hands on his scars, tracing their lines in the firelight.

 

A kiss, a caress.

 

An embrace.

 

They made love to the sound of the crackling of the wood in the flames. Claire’s soft smiles and her warm words unleashing an unskilled enthusiasm from Jamie that made her laugh and Jamie vowed in the aftermath, pulling a sleeping bag over them, that he would do everything in his power to make her laugh every day for the rest of his life.

 

A tan line, traced.

 

One day, by the grace of God, Jamie prayed another ring would sit there.

 

 

Later they talked, Claire unashamed of her nakedness as she went to hang their clothes above the fire. Jamie enjoying Claire’s stares as she watched him cook naked in front of the fire and throwing out lines about health and safety.

 

Eating warm baked beans and toast.

 

Zipping the bags together for the night.

 

Safe and warm and satiated, Claire Beauchamp and Jamie Fraser lay tangled together, listening to the storm batter the metal roof. Jamie’s chest for a pillow. A kiss on Claire’s curls. A whisper good night.

 

Oidhche mhath.

 

* * *

 

Music: A Precious Place by Duncan Chisholm from the album Sandwood (2018)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a long tradition in Scotland of shelters in the hills, left open and free to use for estate workers, walkers, cyclists and those who need shelter. They are strictly non-commercial, for small groups for a night or two at a time. They go by many names such as bothies, howffs, shelters etc. and are usually in remote and rural locations. Some of these are maintained by the non-profit Mountain Bothy Association who organise upkeep and encourage good practice (https://www.mountainbothies.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Responsible-access.pdf). Others are built or kept by individuals, climbing groups, land owners or even groups of friends. There is a tradition that the precise location of these shelters are only discovered by accident or given to trusted people by those who already know their location. Typically they are away from modern transport or communications infrastructure and have no modern facilities. There is a whole culture around the tradition of bothies and I hope that anyone reading this and learning about them for the first time chooses to maintain the long-held tradition of respect for these special places.


	19. Chapter 19

 Via NHS Scotland: 

“ _Where to get contraception_

_Contraceptive services are free and confidential. This includes services for people under 16, as long as they're mature enough to understand the information and decisions involved – there are strict guidelines for healthcare professionals who work with people under 16._

_You can get contraception for free from:_

  * _most GP surgeries (talk to your GP or practice nurse)_
  * _community contraception clinics_
  * _some genitourinary medicine (GUM) clinics_
  * _sexual health clinics (these offer contraceptive and STI testing services)_
  * _some young people's services_



_Many of these services also offer information, testing and treatment for STIs. If you've had unprotected sex and think there's a chance you might get pregnant, you're also at risk of catching an STI._

_Before you make an appointment, try to find out as much as possible about the contraceptive options available. Your choice of contraception may vary over time, depending on your lifestyle and circumstances._ ”

 See endnote for sources. NHS websites and Brook, an LGBTQIA friendly sexual health charity are great places to get information on sexual health and family planning.

* * *

 

**Chapter 19**

 

 

Twice more in the night Claire reached for him and Jamie learned the sounds she made when he moved in her the way she liked, the guttural noises she made when she clutched him hard and bit his neck and begged him to move harder and faster. In the early hours of the morning once the rain had stopped and only the quiet breathing of the horses sounded in the bothy, Jamie’s hand rubbed Claire’s back and played in her curls as his mind turned over the events of the night. In Jamie’s few previous forays with women he had always felt with a lurking sense of embarrassment that he was the needy one pushing things. The need to apologise afterwards if he hadn’t got it quite right, while at the same time going through the entire ordeal without being entirely clear what his partner wanted.

 

Claire on the other hand not only wanted him but needed, him, reached for him. There was a resonance between them and a compatibility that neither of them could quite put into words, only knowing that when they were together they innately understood each other. Claire’s greater experience left her with no compunctions about letting Jamie know just what she wanted and he had found himself only too eager to please her, rising to meet the challenge of her wants. With a soft sigh Jamie turned his head and kissed her head where it lay tucked under his chin. Without reason a warm happiness bubbled up inside him and he bit his cheek to stop from laughing with sheer joy at the discovery Claire liked it a bit rough. Even now he felt himself blush at the way she had responded, the way her nails dug into his back at the snap of hips against the unforgiving boards underneath. Claire didn’t just like sex, Jamie realised, Claire liked getting fucked. Claire liked being satisfied.

 

By sheer necessity Jamie had spent much of his life denying himself. Now he let his mind wander, wondering what else Claire would like. Would she ride him with her hair tumbling about his face, would she let him watch her touch herself, would she let him take her when his blood was up and his mind descended to that place where words just didn’t work. At some point he drifted off, waking in the quiet of the morning to the sound of the last of the summer skylarks, still casting their song out across the land like a fly fisherman casting at the river in the early dawn. Back and forth, back and forth, the elevating chorus that transported you dream-like across world refreshed and made anew. Looking at her now, the way a shaft of sunlight in the window caught the rippling shades of the peaty burn in her hair, Jamie knew what he wanted. Claire liked it rough, liked getting off, liked being satisfied and he would give her that. He would give himself to her if she would have him, but in the softness of the new day when she was sleeping and quiet and warm in his arms Jamie knew that this is what he wanted and he nuzzled her and whispered Gaelic endearments until she came around, sleepily, swimming to the surface.

 

“Mmmm?”

 

Jamie gently pulled her astride him, letting his eyes tell her what he wanted.

 

Claire was sleepy and grumpy.“Jamie, I’m sore.”

 

His fingers played with her hair, tucking a lock behind her ear and let his heart wallow in the feeling of being together, warm in their bed even as uncomfortable as the wooden boards were. “Aye, ah ken that.”

 

“Well then,” Claire lay her head back down on his chest, “Hold that thought, Soldier.”

 

Jamie, slightly irritated, pushed her away from him slightly. “Sorcha,” He probed with his eyes again until he met hers and Claire could tell by the intense way he stared at her that this was important. “I’m not used to speaking of such things, so you’ll forgive me if I’m a little out of practice but I need to say this.” He sighed slightly and caressed her face with his thumb. “Claire, I ken what it is that you need now and I will give that you to ye, I will serve ye gladly as ye need me. Ye need something there arenae words for, ye need possessed, you need taken apart and if ye ask it of me I will fuck you from here to kingdom come every day for the rest of our lives,” The way Jamie said it made Claire laugh and Jamie laughed too in response, but he wasn’t finished. “The thing is, Sassenach, I need something too and once all’s said and done and ye’re sore and satisfied and I’ve earned my place at your side, I’m asking for the quid pro quo.”

 

Claire looked at Jamie uncertainly.

 

Jamie stared back adoringly, but he wasn’t backing down. “I’ll be gentle,” He whispered softly, “But I won’t be used.”

 

Still, Claire hesitated and Jamie could see the fear in her eyes. She had been hurt before, the scars were there for all to see. Jamie was asking her to trust him but he could see now Claire might not be ready for that yet and he wouldn’t force her. The seconds strained as they continued until at length Claire gave him a tiny, terrified nod and without breaking eye contact Jamie rolled them over and slid inside her. He was intensely aware of not hurting her, and listened carefully to every gasp and moan, riding the edge of pleasure and pain as he moved with long, slow thrusts. After every previous time in the dark, now in the broad light of day Jamie wouldn’t let Claire hide, bringing her eyes back to his again and again.

 

“Look at me, Sorcha,” As much a plea as a command. It terrified Claire to see such devotion in his features, to see the intent with which he moved and she knew then in the way he moved what he was saying with his body. ‘With my body I thee worship’ echoed in her head as Jamie switched to small, deep thrusts that were so intense she whimpered slightly and looked away only for Jamie to turn her eyes back to his. “Look at me,” Jamie insisted again and she did as he stuttered and came inside her, a warm rush of semen. Sore and fucked out, her clit was painful too the touch and Claire tried to bat his hand away as it came between them but Jamie clutched her hand and pinned it to the pillow making her come twice more so that tears spring into her eyes before he was satisfied and he collapsed on top of her, kissing away her tears.

 

It was several long breaths later when he swore, pulled out and looked at her in horror. “God, Claire, I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Claire could already feel his seed spilling down and knew she should be mad, or say something. In truth she had never felt more vulnerable, but she was beyond words right now and could only hold him to her as Jamie pressed his face into her shoulder, prostrating himself before her in apology.

 

Well it was done now, and Claire couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry. She was painfully raw, body and soul. Tired, she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep again but he felt cold air between them and then Jamie’s weight was gone, his eyes not meeting hers as he rose for the day. “I think I need some air.”

 

Claire watched him pull on his clothes, refusing to meet her eye or respond to her calls.

 

“Jamie...” No response.

 

“Jamie!”

 

On the threshold of leaving he glanced at her and then turned around and stalked back over to the bed, falling to his knees at her side. His hand slid into hers, clutching for something.

 

“It’s not the end of the world.”

“Claire how can you say that...” He shook his head, trailing off into the misery of his own mind. “I forgot a condom, I was careless wi’ ye, I pushed ye.” She could hear the torment in his voice, the need forgiveness. The question, however, seemed not to be whether Claire could forgive him but whether he could forgive himself. Without words her hand rose and laid itself over his heart and at once he clutched at it. “Did I hurt ye?”

 

Claire’s heart broke at the uncertainty in his voice, “A little,” She admitted and then smirked, “But mostly in ways I liked. We’re learning the boundaries, Jamie. I expect we’ll both stumble a bit, but I’ll let you know if I’m not happy.”

 

This seemed to settle him little. “If you need to sort anything, or see a pharmacist-”

 

“Thank you,” Claire cut him off, knowing what his offer was and then he leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. Claire caressed his hair and he leaned into the feel of her fingers on his scalp, sending shivers through his body. “Besides, you’ve introduced three words to this relationship that I’m going to hold you to.”

 

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Quid. Pro. Quo.”

 

A cathartic chuckle rumbled through Jamie’s chest. “Should I be feeling nervous?”

 

“Probably,” Claire informed him and they shared a laugh that shook their bodies and had them clutching each other once more. Together like this, their bodies spoke to each other in ways that words could not and the press of Jamie’s thigh against hers, the feeling of closeness was one she couldn’t get enough of.

 

“Well I’ll hold you to that,” When Jamie spoke his voice was low and raspy, raw with emotion. “Now I know what it’s like to be inside you, I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting it.”

 

“Sex?” Claire smirked at him. There was an insecurity to him, a vulnerability she had not entirely been expecting. Murtagh had warned her though, hadn’t he, about how easily she might break a man who looked so strong.

 

Jamie shook his head with a soft smile, “You. Can you forgive me?”

 

Claire tugged at his hair until she could kiss him on the lips and sighed into it as Jamie kissed her thoroughly. Jamie threaded his hand into hers and nodded staying that way for a moment before squeezing her hand and rising. “I’ll let you rest a while. Would you like me to heat some water for you to wash?”

 

“Yes please.” There were things she needed to say to him, but Claire suspected he needed a bit of head space before they had a conversation. A lot had happened last night – and this morning. Jamie needed time to process. With one last wistful look at her, Jamie rose and reluctantly let their fingers fall apart. He headed outside in the direction of the latrine and came back to see to the horses. Then he fetched water, built another fire, heated the water and headed outside again when Claire finally rose to give her some privacy. While she washed and dressed Claire heard the quaintly domestic sound of chopping wood, the distinctive crack of logs splitting and the dull clunks of wood being stacked while inside the fire crackled and fended off the chill of the cool morning air.

 

Later, once Claire was washed and dressed, Jamie rolled up the sleeping bags – now bearing a distinctive wet patch that would require washing upon their return – and doled out the porridge. In the absence of much furniture they sat squashed together on the front step with a view out over the hills. Quiet, still and a nip of frost that was just lifting.

 

“I thought there’d be more questions,” Jamie said quietly.

 

“Questions?”

 

“The few times I’ve tried date, there’s always questions. I’ve not always been comfortable with the probing.”

 

Claire thought this over. “I suppose we all have our secrets.”

 

Jamie nodded. “Secrets, aye, we do at that. But can we promise each other, Sorcha...when we do share something, we let it be the truth?”

 

Claire thought over his self-doubt, his attempts to work out his place with her. All too conscious of Jamie’s mental health, Claire could only imagine what someone playing mind games might do to him. “I promise,” Claire whispered sincerely.

 

“And I promise too.”

 

They stayed like that a while until Jamie confessed he really need to get a head start on the building inspection while the weather was good. While Jamie started checking roofing and masonry and the seals around the windows, Claire finished up the last of the packing knowing they had a long walk ahead of them today and then Claire would have a long drive home after that. The thought of driving back to Edinburgh and spending another long week without Jamie wasn’t something she relished, but the real world beckoned. They spent the morning pottering about the bothy before finally resigning themselves to leaving about noon. They filled in the latrine, put out the fire, swept out the floor and made sure it was as welcoming as possible for the next people who came along. Jamie was satisfied enough with the weather proofing of the bothy for the moment, enough that it would do for a few days later on in the winter when he and one or two of the other gillies would need to come out and do a full scale winter cull on this side of the estate. He left the tools for future use, making sure they were wrapped up in a tarp out of the weather.

 

By the time they left it was late morning. Jamie let Claire set the pace and fell in at her side with the ponies’ reins in one hand and Claire’s hand in the other. With the ponies’ loads left at the bothy, Jamie let them carry the kit and rifle and without weight on their own backs the walk back was easier and quicker. They stopped at the side of a burn at one point, hidden slightly by the birch and willow scrub that was springing up around the water source and fumbled and kissed in the heather but as romantic as the notion of taking off clothes might be, Jamie insisted that getting deer ticks on your arse wasn’t worth it. After an hour or so of walking they happened upon a herd of red deer and Jamie stopped and prepared the gun. From a distance Claire watched, impressed, as he stalked closer, crawling through the heather until he finally lined up the shot and got the female deer he was aiming for straight through the spinal cord. The rest of the herd ran as the sound echoed across the glen and then it was just Jamie and Claire. He gralloched the carcass and tied it up on the back of one of the ponies. Inevitably after this interlude they step by step made their way back to reality and the closer they got back to Lallybroch, the greater the feeling of foreboding that came down upon them.

 

“There’s a meeting tonight about the buyout, if you want to come,” Jamie offered.

 

As much as Claire loved the thought there was already a long drive before her. It would take at least four, possibly five hours depending on traffic and she had work tomorrow. “I think I’ll need to head off as soon as we get back to be honest. I have work tomorrow.”

 

It seemed to Jamie that Claire had only just arrived. How could it already be time for her to part?

 

“Aye, I understand. I’ll need to head to the Big House to hang the carcass anyway.”

 

The thought of parting before they needed to sank Claire’s heart but the real world was invading and there were practicalities to be dealt with. “Sassenach can we talk, before you go?”

 

With only a few miles left they stopped on a glade overlooking the glen at the heart of the estate and sat themselves down on the ground, Jamie pulling Claire into his arms. “Should we get the morning after pill?” He asked quietly.

 

“I’m on the pill to regulate my periods. What we really should have done already was talk about getting tested for STDs.”

 

Jamie couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that there wouldn’t be a child, but the thought had been haunting him all the way back that it wouldn’t be so terrible after all to share a bairn with Claire Beauchamp. One day, maybe. If he didn’t screw this up. “I’ll make an appointment with my GP,” Jamie promised.

  
“Then I will too,” Claire promised back. “To be perfectly honest I’m not a huge fan of condoms anyway. Not that I think there’s anything to worry about but it’s better to be cautious.”

 

“Right.” Jamie squeezed her hand knowing he should probably be saying something more, but all his mind could fix on was Claire’s imminent departure. “Can I see you next weekend?”

 

“Janet said you and Ian were taking the kids to see the shinty at Fort William?”  
  
“Or I could leave Ian to it and come down to yours.”  
  
“Or,” Claire pointed out, “I could come with you.”

 

“You shouldn’t have to do all the driving. The weekend after that is Remembrance Sunday. I was going to ask you to come up. That’s why I thought of me coming to you. Doesn’t seem fair if you’re the only one putting the miles in.”

 

“Lets stay in touch and see what works,” Claire suggested. The number of permutations was getting more and more complicated. “Besides, we could always meet in the middle somewhere.”

 

“Aye,” Jamie sighed. He wasn’t happy, but there was nothing to be done. Though it was slightly out of the way, Jamie walked them to his cottage first, coming at it from the top of the hill and swinging down the zig-zag path towards the modest abode. He hated the thought of saying goodbye but there was no point putting it off and he couldn’t very well let the meat spoil by lingering here. Claire might need a few minutes to herself anyway before the long drive but he couldn’t help smiling when Claire grabbed him and pulled him in for a thorough kiss and then took the pack from him and swung it onto the back.

 

“Door’s open,” Jamie informed her, jerking his head towards his cottage. “Just leave the pack inside. I’ll sort it once I’m done.”

 

“You shouldn’t do that you know. Leave the door open.”

 

Jamie’s brows knitted together in confusion. “But what if someone needs inside?”

 

Claire snorted and shook her head. “Never change, Jamie Fraser.”

 

“Sassenach,” Jamie gave her a curt nod and then, like ripping off an elastoplast, Claire turned around and marched smartly down the hill to her black volkswagen hatchback.

 

Jamie and the ponies watched her go, hating every moment of it before turning back up the hill and back toward the big house. There was work to be done.

 

* * *

 

Music rec: Ae Fond Kiss from Transatlantic Sessions by Karen Matheson and Paul Brady https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=bWzXTebD5X0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.nhsinform.scot/healthy-living/contraception/getting-started/getting-and-using-contraception


	20. Chapter 20

####  _ Land Reform (Scotland) Act 2016 _

####  _ 49  Part 5 community bodies _

_ (1) A Part 5 community body is, subject to subsection (7)— _

_ (a) where a body applies under section 54(1)(a) to exercise the right to buy itself, a body falling within subsection (2), (3) or (4), _

_ (b) where a body nominates a third party purchaser to exercise the right to buy under section 54(1)(b), a body falling within subsection (5), _

_ (c) a body of such other description as the Scottish Ministers may by regulations specify. _

_ (2) A body falls within this subsection if it is a company limited by guarantee the articles of association of which include the following— _

_ (a) a definition of the community to which the company relates, _

_ (b) provision enabling the company to exercise the right to buy land under this Part, _

_ (c) provision that the company must have not fewer than 10 members, _

_ (d) provision that at least three quarters of the members of the company are members of the community, _

_ (e) provision whereby the members of the company who consist of members of the community have control of the company, _

_ (f) provision ensuring proper arrangements for the financial management of the company, _

_ (g) provision that any surplus funds or assets of the company are to be applied for the benefit of the community, and _

_ (h) provision that, on the winding up of the company and after satisfaction of its liabilities, its property (including any land acquired by it under this Part) passes— _

_ (i) to such other community body as may be approved by the Scottish Ministers, or _

_ (ii) if no other community body is so approved, to the Scottish Ministers or to such charity as the Scottish Ministers may direct. _

_ (3) A body falls within this subsection if it is a Scottish charitable incorporated organisation (a “SCIO”) the constitution of which includes the following— _

_ (a) a definition of the community to which the SCIO relates, _

_ (b) provision enabling the SCIO to exercise the right to buy land under this Part, _

_ (c) provision that the SCIO must have not fewer than 10 members, _

_ (d) provision that at least three quarters of the members of the SCIO are members of the community, _

_ (e) provision under which the members of the SCIO who consist of members of the community have control of the SCIO, _

_ (f) provision ensuring proper arrangements for the financial management of the SCIO, _

_ (g) provision that, on the request of any person for a copy of the minutes of a meeting of the SCIO, the SCIO must, if the request is reasonable, give the person within 28 days of the request a copy of those minutes, _

_ (h) provision that, where a request of the type mentioned in paragraph (g) is made, the SCIO— _

_ (i) may withhold information contained in the minutes, and _

_ (ii) if it does so, must inform the person requesting a copy of the minutes of its reasons for doing so, and _

_ (i) provision that any surplus funds or assets of the SCIO are to be applied for the benefit of the community. _

_ (4) A body falls within this subsection if it is a community benefit society the registered rules of which include the following— _

_ (a) a definition of the community to which the society relates, _

_ (b) provision enabling the society to exercise the right to buy land under this Part, _

_ (c) provision that the society must have not fewer than 10 members, _

_ (d) provision that at least three quarters of the members of the society are members of the community, _

_ (e) provision under which the members of the society who consist of members of the community have control of the society, _

_ (f) provision ensuring proper arrangements for the financial management of the society, _

_ (g) provision that, on the request of any person for a copy of the minutes of a meeting of the society, the society must, if the request is reasonable, give the person within 28 days of the request a copy of those minutes, _

_ (h) provision that, where a request of the type mentioned in paragraph (g) is made, the society— _

_ (i) may withhold information contained in the minutes, and _

_ (ii) if it does so, must inform the person requesting a copy of the minutes of its reasons for doing so, and _

_ (i) provision that any surplus funds or assets of the society are to be applied for the benefit of the community. _

_ (5) A body falls within this subsection if it is a body corporate having a written constitution that includes the following— _

_ (a) a definition of the community to which the body relates, _

_ (b) provision that the majority of the members of the body are to be members of that community, _

_ (c) provision that the members of the body who consist of members of that community have control of the body, _

_ (d) provision that membership of the body is open to any member of that community, _

_ (e) a statement of the body's aims and purposes, including the promotion of a benefit for that community, and _

_ (f) provision that any surplus funds are to be applied for the benefit of that community. _

_ (6) The Scottish Ministers may, if they think it in the public interest to do so, disapply the requirement specified in subsection (2)(c), (3)(c) or (4)(c) in relation to any body they may specify. _

_ (7) A body is not a Part 5 community body unless the Scottish Ministers have given it written confirmation that they are satisfied that the main purpose of the body is consistent with furthering the achievement of sustainable development. _

_ (8) The Scottish Ministers may by regulations modify subsections (2), (3), (4), (5) and (6). _

_ (9) A community— _

_ (a) is defined for the purposes of subsection (2), (3), (4) and (5) by reference to a postcode unit or postcode units or a type of area as the Scottish Ministers may by regulations specify (or both such unit and type of area), and _

_ (b) comprises the persons from time to time— _

_ (i) resident in that postcode unit or in one of those postcode units or in that specified type of area, and _

_ (ii) entitled to vote, at a local government election, in a polling district which includes that postcode unit or those postcode units or that specified type of area (or part of it or them). _

_ (10) The articles of association of a company which is a Part 5 community body may, despite the generality of paragraph (h) of subsection (2), provide that its property may, in the circumstances mentioned in that paragraph, pass to another person only if that person is a charity. _

_ (11) In this section— _

  * _“ charity” means a body entered in the Scottish Charity Register,_

  * _“ community benefit society” means a registered society (within the meaning of section 1 of the Co-operative and Community Benefit Societies Act 2014) registered as a community benefit society under section 2 of that Act,_

  * _“ company limited by guarantee” has the meaning given by section 3(3) of the Companies Act 2006,_

  * _“ postcode unit” means an area in relation to which a single postcode is used to facilitate the identification of postal service delivery points within the area,_

  * _“ registered rules” has the meaning given by section 149 of the Co-operative and Community Benefit Societies Act 2014 (as that meaning applies in relation to community benefit societies),_

  * _“ Scottish charitable incorporated organisation” has the meaning given by section 49 of the Charities and Trustee Investment (Scotland) Act 2005._




* * *

 

Chapter 20

 

Claire walked all the way down the hill, refusing to look back. Past the ill-kept garden that had probably been a vegetable patch once before it got out of control and down to the door. She dumped the rucksack in Jamie’s bedroom and unpacked her own things. She went to the loo, made a cup of tea and checked she had everything she had brought with her packed in the car. Pausing on the threshhold, Claire took a moment to let the warmth sink in, to let the memories of that weekend sear themselves in her mind. For just a second she closed her eyes and then with new resolve opened them again and walked herself to the car and turned on the ignition. She drove down the drive and onto the now familiar rural roads, she noted the familiar faces of a few townsfolk, the cafe and the B&B, the roof line of the scout hall and the spire of the kirk. Out along the glen the birch trees started springing up and then the heather with the Big House of Lallybroch itself slowly slipping past. With every mile her heart became heavier but she forced herself to go on. She thought of Jamie’s warm arms, the way he smiled, the way his curls were growing out and they hung about his forehead. Claire thought of how vulnerable he let himself be around her, and wondered if she herself was entirely reciprocating in that.

The roads got bigger and wider and before long she was joining the A9, a road that carved its way through Scotland from Thurso to Stirling where it merged into motorway the rest of the way back to Edinburgh. Until two weeks ago the land between Inverness and Applecross had been a blank spot on the map in her head, with vague notions of mountains and lochs. Now it was full of detail. Straths, rivers and glens. Roads, places, people, communities. The landscape was a mixture of upland grass and heather, with arable crofted lands and farms in the lower lying areas, especially in the more easterly parts. The further west you got the wilder the landscape, the bigger the hills, the sharper and more dramatic the rocks. There were stands of trees that were as familiar to her now as the skyline of Oxford and even hedgerows in places. Ancient ruins of castles and crofts stood out as landmarks in the landscape as much as the roadsigns with their curiously re-gaelicised versions of names that were mostly anglicised gaelic anyway. Bit by bit her mind committed this corner of Scotland to memory and almost as interesting as the country itself to Claire were the people in it, who were more shaped by the experience of living here than any visitor would ever know who didn’t take the time to pause and talk to them. Claire only wished she had more time. She loved spending time with Jamie but with no parents or surviving grandparents of her own, part of her yearned for Jamie to drag her round the local pensioners like they’d met at the Scout hall and in the street, listening to their soft gaelic and the warm way they shook your hand. Learning their stories, their histories, their knowledge. It was the only inkling Claire had ever had as to what it might be like to have a grandparent and it was one she found she wanted dearly.

Missing Jamie already, Claire turned on Radio nan Gaidheal only to find that it had reverted to Radio Scotland for the evening and the signal was so poor and intermittent she gave up on it in the end and stopped in a lay-by to switch on a downloaded podcast about herbal medicine. She had listened to it already, but it was interesting and helped her to concentrate. Unfortunately some distance down the road the traffic ground to a halt. The road was nose to tail as far as the eye could see and there was no traffic coming in the opposite direction. Claire thought about turning around, but already another car and then another pulled in behind her.

She sighed and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. This was going to take a while.

 ~

Jamie couldn’t help but look back, at least a couple of times. And every time he did he smiled. Claire might be leaving, but there was something there. Something that felt special.

Claire felt special.

They might not have known each other that long, and they might still not know each other that well, but she was smart and intelligent and had lived in the world. Claire was her own person, but not afraid to reach out or learn what she didn’t know. She was a do-er and a problem solver and being around her made him feel that everything was just that little bit more possible than it had been before.

He still had a smile on his face when he walked into the stable yard of the Big House to find Dougal Mackenzie standing at the back of his Toyota pick-up inspecting a collection of crow-traps for any damage. A quick look inside at the assortment of traps, grit trays and other items told Jamie that Dougal had cleared a section of the moor of any of the estate’s property probably in preparation for a muirburn.

“Wipe that stupid smile off your face, lad.”

“Good evening to you too, Dougal!”

“We’ll need to get started on the muirburn as soon as we get a dry spell,” Dougal said by way of a response and then, finally, looked up at Jamie and the ponies. His eyes lingered and then looked Jamie up and down. “You really went all that way and only culled one hind?”

A frown marred Jamie’s forehead. “I didnae go out there to cull hinds as you well know, Dougal. You asked me to inspect the bothy and I did. Roof’s sound for another year, just about. Thanks for asking.”

“Well you’ll excuse me for suspecting it wasnae the roof you were testing out, you and that Sassenach. Didnae want to share your prize then, I take it?” Dougal commented with a wry smile and then slapped Jamie too hard, as was his habit. “Probably wise of you. Can’t say I’d say no, right enough.”

Jamie didn’t like the way Dougal was talking but Jamie couldn’t tell whether Dougal really might try something with Claire or whether Dougal was trying to wind him up and Jamie considered that it might be better to avoid the argument and turned away, leading the ponies toward the meat storage area before he took them to the stables for a rub down and some fresh hay. “I’d better see to this.”

“Aye,” Dougal scoffed, “Got to get the work finished. Can’t have you running late for that community meeting now, can we?”

Jamie ignored him and went on his way. But Dougal’s attitude hung over him like a cloud all the way through the afternoon and the evening. At his sister’s place Jenny and Ian queried Claire’s absence and while they understood her need to get a head start on the long drive back, Jenny and the kids let it be known how much they had been looking forward to Claire joining them. Once again, Jamie felt like a small failure had just chalked itself up against another of that day’s efforts and the fact that he was missing Claire already wasn’t helping.

At the Scout Hall as dusk fell, Jamie settled into his seat at the front where Janet told him to sit. Ian was giving him a look that said it was best to just do as they were told, Janet seemed to have quite firm ideas about the whole thing but since she was the one leading matters Jamie wasn’t going to complain. Bit by bit most of the town and surrounding crofters arrived. Tenant sheep farms from the estate were represented although the number of sheep had reduced drastically in recent years and it was doubtful whether many of them would continue on for another generation. A lot of the youngsters were looking to other things these days, the irony being that sheep farms that were established in Lallybroch after the clearances were now being out-competed by lamb from New Zealand, often produced by descendants of the people that had been forcibly migrated in the nineteenth century. In all it was a diverse group of people who turned up with a variety of local interests present. Crofters, sheep farmers, towns folk and incomers plus one or two unfamiliar faces who had probably read about it in the paper and decided to travel for the meeting out of personal or professional interest. A local counsellor was standing talking heads with Ned Gowan of all people. Jamie knew from the conversation over dinner that on the back of his own advances to the lawyer, Jenny and Kirin had been trying to rope in Ned to take on some of the legal work – without entirely knowing how they would pay for it – and Jamie could only guess by the lawyer’s presence in the corner that they must have been successful to some degree.

At Jamie’s glance Ned gave him a wee nod and a wink.

Ian sat down beside him after a while, muttering about the state of the grouse industry and the worries that it was better to jump before they were pushed if interest groups kept lobbying the Scottish Government for licensing. If it wasn’t that, Ian was grumbling about Dougal, then about trying to get the kids to behave themselves. Right enough there was a rowdy bunch at the back playing tag. Jamie supposed someone would probably chase them outside to run off their energy once the meeting was called to order. A knowing smile broke out on Jamie’s face as Ian picked out his eldest daughter for child-herding duties and the glare she had inherited from her mother made Jamie laugh. The sense of family and community in the room was beginning to burn off the bad taste Dougal’s dark words had left and having a moment to finally sit and contemplate the weekend with Claire had left him in such a buoyant mood that everything now seemed to bring him amusement.

Eventually, predictably late, they finally got down to business and Ian got up to do the duties.

“This is the next in a series of community meetings we’ll be having to discuss the proposal that the local community here buys out the Lallybroch Estate that has been put up for sale by the current landowner.”

Ned Gowan cleared his throat and Ian invited him forwards. “Technically,” Ned clarified, “The estate is not actually owned in a personal capacity. Lallybroch Estate is owned by CS Holdings Limited based in the Cayman Islands. In turn, CS Holdings Limited is believed to be owned by another shell company based in Panama.”

Ian stared at Ned for a long moment. “Right.”

“Just so that’s clear,” Ned smiled.

“Perfectly.”

Ned stepped back and chuckle rippled around the room at Ian’s bemused expression.

“We have representatives here tonight from the Lallybroch Crofting Tenants Association who it is proposed will spearhead the buy out and Ned Gowan, who will be known to many of you here, has agreed to take on some of the legal work involved, although he has warned us he may be required to call in reinforcements should matters get complicated. We also have representatives here from a couple of people involved in previous community land buy outs who have agreed to speak on their experience of the process. I think most of those who have expressed an interest in knowing more about the idea of a community land buyout are present here tonight but on that note – and before we go any further – do we have any apologies or notes of interest from anyone who can’t be here tonight?”

A member of the audience stood up. “The Cohens send their apologies. They were visiting family in Aviemore but there’s problems on the A9 and they won’t make it back in time.”

Jamie’s heart sank. His heart beat faster as worry over Claire’s wellbeing  filled him. The chances of her being involved in an accident were no higher or lower than anyone else but even if she were ok, her journey home would now take several hours more. 

“Noted. Thanks, Rona. Janet or myself can phone Isaac and Sarah in the morning and make sure they’re caught up. Right then if that’s all I will hand over to a very special visitor who is here from the body representing community land owners in Scotland. She has agreed to talk to us tonight about the new system which was updated through recent legislation. Moira MacMillan, everybody.”

Moira stepped forwards and Jamie thought she looked rather familiar until he remembered seeing her face in a newspaper article in the Highland Herald about a certain island buyout that had attained a lot of publicity the year before. The meeting went on. After Moira, Ned talked about the need to shore up the legal status of the Crofting Tenants Association as time went on if the buy out went ahead, including potentially the need to formally incorporate themselves as and register as a charity. Kirin spoke about making the business case for greater economic freedom for locals and, hopefully, apply for the new fibre-optic broadband that was coming in across the highlands. This would, she insisted, enable businesses to be more efficient and enable more start ups in the area. Jamie had been persuaded to talk a bit about the options of changing the land use in the upland areas of the estate and the options he had researched in his own time for natural flood management in the glen, conservation grants and help for crofters and sheep farmers to diversify. The possibility of reasserting the ancient grazing rights the estate had denied since Victorian times was suggested as a more environmentally friendly alternative to intensive deer and grouse management. New products like premium pasture fed meat could be produced through coordinating with some of the small specialist abbatoirs in the highlands, while decreased but managed grazing would allow the land and vegetation to recover. He tentatively mentioned the possibility of increased wildlife tourism a few years down the line as an added source of income along with encouraging more outdoor enthusiasts through better local facilities. While the response of some was scepticism, others pointed out the status quo wasn’t working and maybe it was worth considering different options. Folks gathered in the room asked questions, but some of the sheep farmers were worried. Times were hard enough without adding more uncertainty and not all of the ideas were compatible with their business model. Others added their own thoughts. Renewables were mentioned. A local gin or whisky distillery or a micro brewery was mooted.

Jenny rounded off the meeting by pointing out that they would need to be able to tell people what they wanted to do with the estate if they did buy it out and began a list of the ideas that had been put forward in order to start the process of reports and feasibility studies. Housing stock came up again and again. Jobs. New crofts. Internet access. The phone signal. The flooding on the river.

Yet part of Jamie worried. The ideas were great and would do great things for the town, but without sorting out what would happen on the hills he wondered whether any of the schemes being dreamt up would work out. Should they reduce deer and sheep numbers and forget about grouse?  It was all very well recognising what the problems were but that was how people made a living. If you were going to take away people’s livelihoods you had to give them something else. Something better. There were estates that were trying it but they tended to be owned by philanthropic billionaires who had the money to plough millions a year into a loss-making enterprises while they literally waited for trees to grow. There was no way a community like Lallybroch would ever have the capital to carry out the suggested investments or withstand the sorts of losses that were required for habitat restoration without a large injection of cash and a lot of know how about plants and Claire was the one who knew about plants, not him.

~

Several hundred miles south, Claire’s mind was on Jamie as much as his was on her. The journey home had taken a lot longer than anticipated. A fatal head on collision had closed the road for hours until finally they had been directed down a narrow, twisting B road that formed a long and slow diversion. It was late by the time she got to Edinburgh and she thought mournfully as she climbed the tenement stairs of Jamie’s neglected garden, wondering what she wouldn’t give for a small patch of land to grow a few herbs in. Oh she tried with some plant pots in the window but it just wasn’t the same. Still, her flat was cosy. It was well appointed and she kept it clean and tidy. She made a quick phone call to Jamie but it went to answerphone and she suspected he didn’t have a signal so she sent him a text telling him she was home safe and hoped to speak soon. A long moment’s pause resulted in her signing off with an x but not an I love you and she wondered why it mattered so much to get it right. Casting her worries aside, Claire took a bath and bit her lip at the ache from that morning’s sex as she climbed in the tub. For a long while in the few hours she had remaining, bookended between the weekend and work, Claire lay back in the warm and relaxing waters of her large bathtub and remembered the feel of Jamie’s curls against her neck as he lost himself in her. His smile, his kind eyes, his intelligent mind and gentle heart. Claire thought of the way she felt drawn to his presence and the way things had been so stilted and awkward with Frank towards the end. A quick dinner from the freezer eaten in pyjamas and Claire headed to bed for an early night. The drive had exhausted her and she was yawning before her head hit the pillow.

Bivvying up with Jamie had been nice but there was nothing quite like your own bed. Pleasant dreams awaited her.

* * *

 

Music rec: Nuair Bha Mi Ag from Timber Timbre by the Whistlebinkies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s49 Land Reform (Scotland) Act 2016 quoted from Legislation.gov.uk (https://www.legislation.gov.uk/asp/2016/18/section/49). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/)


	21. Chapter 21

_Hill Farming Act 1946_

_S23 Muirburn Season_

_ (1) A person may make muirburn on land only during the muirburn season. _

_ (2) The muirburn season consists of— _

_ (a) the standard muirburn season; and _

_ (b) the extended muirburn season. _

_ (3) The standard muirburn season is the period of time from 1 October in any year to 15 April in the following year. _

_ (4) The extended muirburn season is the period of time from 16 April to 30 April in any year. _

_ (5) A person may make muirburn in the extended muirburn season only if the person is— _

_ (a) the proprietor of the land; or _

_ (b) authorised in writing by, or on behalf of, the proprietor of the land _

_ as amended by S34 Wildlife and Natural Environment (Scotland) Act 2011 _

 

* * *

 

Chapter 21

In the morning Claire woke in a good mood, her mind still on Jamie and when she looked in the bathroom mirror she found herself smiling. She showered, ironed a blouse and bought a copy of the Financial Times on the way into work. She stopped at a local indie coffee place for her skinny latte and flicked through the commodities prices as she waited. Cereals were what mattered and it was touch and go. Europe had had a wet autumn and a late harvest but Russia’s yield had been much higher than anticipated and as a result the prices were still unstable and international events weren’t helping any. Grain futures were up though and that might be important to the decision about how much winter cereal to plant this year or whether to wait for spring. Claire spent the morning up to her elbows in wheat and barley statistics, weather reports from Russia, output predictions from Ukraine and the various successes of winter and spring varieties across the estates she looked after.

The cereals grown on the estates she helped manage had a range in quality as well as differences in their intended destination. Some was contracted for directly through specific companies who required an agreed supply. The rest of the grain was sold on the open market, much of it straight away but some of it kept in the hope of a better price later in the year where there were storage facilities to do so, thus ensuring a better return for the landowners. With grain futures up and as they had some storage for cereal Claire decided, after consulting with a colleague, to put what grain they could into storage. Unfortunately there had been some of the crop of a few estates they had been forced to leave in the fields this year. The wet autumn had made the harvest difficult. The overheads for wet-harvested cereals were five times that of dry-harvested cereals, such was the cost of drying, making it uneconomical to harvest. Malting barley got the best price but much of the rest of it ended up going for animal feed, the price of which was lower with poorer returns. On the one hand there was an increase in sales of whisky and locally brewed beer in recent years and many of the malters, brewers and distillers preferred to deal directly with local farmers rather than buying internationally with some prepared to pay a premium for an advance contract at an agreed price to ensure a regular local supply.

Yet whether the increase in craft brewing and whisky distilling was enough to cause an increased demand in Scotland that would affect the price they received for the rest of their harvest was doubtful given the global nature of the markets these days and everyone was watching their margins. Claire spent some times going over her estates, double checking the harvest quantities and that all the contracts had been fulfilled, looking at whether to sell or continue to keep the grain now in storage and balancing the pros and cons of harvesting wet wheat and barley and the low-return animal feed market. Naturally they were trying to increase the amount of premium quality grain year on year in order to ensure better returns for the landowners and commercial farm investors.

By the time lunch time came around her head was a jumble of contracts, markets and finalising the statistics now the last of their harvest figures were finally in. Claire was happy to take a break, wandering out to a local deli for a healthy salad and a cup of tea. She spent some time sitting eating it in an old cemetery nearby, listening to the bird song and enjoying the changing colour of the foliage while she could. Soon it would be too cold to go out for lunch.

In the afternoon Claire got dug into catching up with the farm managers and contractors for the ongoing potato harvest and ensuring everything was running smoothly on that front, finalising varieties for the winter cereal planting and writing everything up for the records and her boss.

Claire was intensely grateful to return home to her flat, put on the radio and make some dinner. When the phone rang she smiled, recognising the number. All day part of her mind had been on Lallybroch and it was no surprise when Jamie’s number flashed up on her phone.

“Hello, Jamie!”

“Hi,” He sounded shy, but relieved. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“You too,” Claire replied with honesty. Just hearing him lightened her heart. She could imagine the way he stood in the hallway of his cottage by his old fashioned phone, leaning against the doorway of the front room.

“Thanks for letting me know you got home ok.”

“No problem.”

“I was worried.”

“I figured you might be.”

Oddly, after such an intimate weekend with just the two of them, their conversation was stilted and awkward. Neither of them knew quite what to say. Claire had a feeling if they were in the same room they would be sitting in silence, just enjoying the company. Maybe holding hands, or sitting close. Jamie’s eyes would be on her, with that little smirk lighting his eyes. Claire knew she would probably be feeling slightly self conscious at the way he seemed incapable of taking his eyes off her. No one, not even Frank, had ever looked at her the way that Jamie did.

Down an electronic line, unable to touch or look at him, Claire missed the feel of skin on skin intensely.

A number of things raced through Jamie’s head. He hated the thought of her driving that road. The way his heart had clenched when he’d heard about the accident on the A9. The relief when he’d received a text. The way he missed her, missed holding her. Being with her. Jamie leaned his forehead against the wall and took a deep breath. “What’s for tea, then?”

“Vegetable lasagne.”

“With steak?”

Laughter burst out of Claire’s chest. “With vegetables you heathen.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a good lapsed Catholic boy.”

“Of course you are.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Claire sighed.

Jamie was having mince and potatoes. The next night he was having steak and chips. The night after that was stew with mashed potatoes. By Thursday Claire was starting to get a bit concerned about Jamie’s diet.

“You do actually know what vegetables are, right?” Claire enquired in a teasing voice.

“Aye, Jenny and Ian grow some.”

“And you know that they’re edible?”

“I ate an apple just yesterday!” Jamie protested.

Claire resolved to walk Jamie through the benefits of good nutrition the next time they met up, which was firmly on her mind by the time her last meeting of Friday came around, a catch up with Geilis Duncan that Geilis had emailed her to request forty-eight hours before. Quite what Geilis wanted to talk about was lost on Claire, not least because her mind was already on getting out of town and up to Fort William for the Shinty-Hurling match that Jamie had tried to explain to her during one of their nightly phonecalls. In all honesty Claire wasn’t sure she entirely understood the concept, but in fairness she wasn’t going for the sport.

Geilis had suggested they meet in a local tea shop that was roughly halfway between their work places and arrived with a file under her arm and ordered a herbal tea.

“Well someone’s in a chipper mood,” Geilis remarked as soon as she caught sight of Claire. Geilis put down the cup of tea and the file under her arm and then looked at Claire more closely. “Claire Beauchamp!”

How was it, Claire wondered, that some people could look at you and instantly know every inner thought?

“Do I know him?” She paused, “Is it a him?”

“It’s private,” Claire said slowly and pointedly. “And its early days.”

Geilis smirked and Claire had the distinct feeling that Geilis was pretending to pay lip service to Claire’s request while at the same time resolving, silently, to squeeze every last detail out of her. But with a divorce under her belt Claire was well past the point of allowing the details of her private life to be aired in public any more than was necessary and no amount of prodding from a woman she barely knew other than as a work contact was going to make her spill every last detail about a dirty weekend. “Well,” Geilis sat down, “Good for you.”

“Thank you,” Claire sipped her own cup. “So what’s all this about?”

“All what?”

Claire waved a hand at the file. “I completed the report as you asked.”

“And Mister Stewart was very happy with it. I wanted to tell you in person that if he is successful in the purchase of Lallybroch that he has told me he would like you to act as his land agent here in Scotland.”

Claire stared at Geilis. The words took a few moments to compute. That was a huge job, on not a lot of experience or personal contact. After several long moments of silence Claire realised that Geilis was awaiting a response and all of sudden an unsettling queasiness filled her at the eagerness in Geilis’s eyes. Why did she get the feeling she wasn’t entirely clued up on the whole picture here? Claire Beauchamp knew she was many things but she wasn’t one to be taken for a mug. She cleared her throat. “Well, that’s not unexpected given your information at the outset of this, but it’s still something I’d need to take on consideration.”

“Really?” Geilis asked in astonishment.

“Well not least the fact that I’ll need to update my boss, which due to scheduling will be Monday at the earliest and possibly Tuesday. You understand it’s not something I can respond to in a personal capacity immediately without consulting my employer.” Claire forced a smile onto her face. “I’m flattered. Really. I’m not saying no, I just need to follow procedure. You understand.”

In the back of Claire’s mind lurked the oddity Jamie had pointed out, that sporting estates required specialist agents. Charles Stewart’s distance and the fact that buyouts – once started – immediately halted any other prospective purchase and from Jamie’s indistinct mutterings down the phone Claire got the impression that Ned, Moira and Jenny were all ready getting the ball rolling on that front.

Geilis Duncan opened her file. “Well, if it will help persuade you at all, I was asked to inform you that Charles Stewart intends to come to Scotland personally at some point and would like to meet with you when he does.”

The uneasy feeling of anxiety didn’t leave Claire for the rest of the day. At home she wasn’t sure she could face the thought of driving up that evening and instead phoned Jamie who offered to drive down and pick her up.

“That isn’t necessary and besides you’re probably lying if you tell me you have the time.”

“I might stink o’ petrol a mite, right enough.”

“What’s that from?”

“Muirburn. Dougal’s had us at it all week, wi’ the weather window."

“You didn’t mention it.”

“I wasn’t sure it would be wise mentioning petrol, flame throwers, and a lot of testosterone after the vegetables argument.”

“First of all that wasn’t an argument and secondly, no, I can’t imagine why I’d worry about my boyfriend who has PTSD from a roadside bomb working with fire all week!”

Jamie went quiet. She'd said 'boyfriend'. “It’s fine,” He said quietly. “I mean, it’s part of the job. You-”

“Get used to it?” Claire interrupted. She knew in the sour mood left over from her meeting with Geilis she was in danger of blaming Jamie for something that wasn’t his fault. “I’m sorry, Jamie, I just worry about you.”

Still Jamie was quiet.

“Jamie? Talk to me.”

The phone clicked.

Claire stared at the silent handset and then swore at herself. By this point she was too tired to set out on a four to five hour drive and went to bed, only to toss and turn for an hour as she kicked herself for being too hard on him. And then she came full circle and resolved not to spent her whole reserve of mental energy worrying about a man who was perfectly capable of looking after himself. And then hating herself for it when Jamie clearly needed support. Where was the line? A fitful sleep came upon her only once her mind was tied in knots only to be woken up but a firm knocking on the front door of her flat.

Why was someone knocking on her front door? What time was it? How had they gotten in from the street? It was nearly midnight and the sounds of the city were mildly audible through the large bay window of the sandstone exterior as Claire walked to the door and peered out the spy hole.

Claire’s eyes bugged and she quickly unlocked the yale lock and the second turnkey lock and the chain.

On her doorstep stood a tired, weary Jamie Fraser.

“I just needed to see you.”

Claire stared at him and Jamie shuffled from foot to foot.

“Some crack addict’s done your street door in by the way,” Jamie waved down the dark, worn stairs with the slim cast-iron bannister running up the middle.

Claire stared a bit more. “It’s a heroin addict,” She said absently and then realised that wasn’t exactly the point and she was rather pissed off that after the third time of calling the police and having the lock repaired it had happened yet again.

Jamie waited a bit longer and when Claire’s sleep deprived mind still failed to compute, Jamie took it the wrong way. “Well, if I’m not welcome I’ll just sleep in the car.”

Claire, kicking herself, grabbed his arm and hauled him inside. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you.”

“No, I mean...” Claire’s mind was really not at it’s sharpest at the moment. But she distinctly remembered agreeing that it was a bad idea for Jamie to drive down tonight. At least, that’s what she thought they had agreed.

But when Jamie spoke his voice cracked and he looked so uncertain in that moment that Claire’s heart broke a little. “I’m sort o’ past words at this point.” His hand reached out to caress her cheek and his lips muttered, “Sassenach,” with such tenderness that Claire felt her heart melt at the sound of his voice and silently she nodded.

Claire reached for him and Jamie fell into her arms, a fierce embrace that went on and on until Claire sighed and pulled back to kiss him on the lips. They kissed, and then kissed some more and melted into each other and a long slow sigh escaped their lungs. Claire knew there were things to say. Complications, the buyout, Charles Stewart. Travel plans. Jamie knew there were things to explain. Things to discuss. In the outside world complications abounded but right now as he stood in her arms all Jamie knew was that five hours in a car was worth it tonight, and worth it again tomorrow to spend a few hours in her arms. With no more said between them Claire took him into her room and they stripped and fell into bed, curling up in exhaustion and falling asleep.

* * *

 

Music rec: The Price of Fire from To The Moon by Capercaillie https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LTmEfRiO7RU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s23 Hill Farming Act 1946 quoted from legislation.gov.uk (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/Geo6/9-10/73/crossheading/muirburn-scotland#commentary-key-97b637860ef9d79a073717eb550dffb5). S34 Wildlife and Natural Environment (Scotland) Act 2011 is also on legislation.gov.uk (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/asp/2011/6/section/34#section-34-2). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/)


	22. Chapter 22

#####  Hill Farming Act 1946

#####  23C Muirburn licences

(1) The Scottish Ministers may grant a licence to a person to make muirburn (a “muirburn licence”) during any period, other than the muirburn season, specified in the licence.

(2) A muirburn licence may, in particular, make provision for—

(a) the land on which the muirburn may be made; and

(b) the persons or types of persons who may make the muirburn.

(3) A muirburn licence may—

(a) relate to only part of the land to which the application relates;

(b) be subject to any specified conditions (including conditions about the giving of notice).

(4) A muirburn licence may be granted only for the purposes of—

(a) conserving, restoring, enhancing or managing the natural environment;

(b) research; or

(c) public safety.

(5) The Scottish Ministers may modify or revoke a muirburn licence.

(6) The Scottish Ministers may delegate their power to grant, modify and revoke muirburn licences to Scottish Natural Heritage.

* * *

 

Chapter 22

Claire awoke to a kiss and the smell of sweat. Weak, grey autumn light was coming in the window, the curtains had been opened and Jamie Fraser leaned over her wearing sweaty workout clothes and still panting slightly.

Claire hummed and snuggled back down under the duvet. “And where have you been?”

“Running,” Jamie grinned, watching her and then he kissed her again and Claire smiled. In spite of her best efforts, she wasn’t going to get back to sleep with Jamie lurking like that. “I’m going for a shower. Care to show me how it works?”

They showered themselves, the floor and most of the bathroom. They had a quickie and ended it squashed together on the floor after Jamie bumping his head on the tiles and both of them collapsed in a heap, laughing.

They smirked at each other all through breakfast and couldn’t stop smiling at the sheer joy of being in each others’ company. Jamie suggested they take his car, and he could always drive her back to a train station for getting home.

First thing on a Saturday morning the roads were quiet, the city was still. A chill damp clung to the air. A low ceiling of grey cloud overhead. Weather that elsewhere might be considered dreary had attained an odd sort of comfort to it, for Claire, after spending a while in Scotland. The air was fresh and cool and they drove with a window slightly open as the familiar scenery passed by. Old shale bings, the Forth Bridges, Stirling Castle and the Trossachs. They stopped at a service station outside Stirling to get some fuel and a coffee and continued on up the A84, then A85, then A82.

More cars began to join the road, folks heading up from the central belt to the Highlands for the weekend. Camper vans, family cars filled to the brim and the odd boat or caravan being towed. Number plates began to appear from Poland and Germany, France and The Netherlands. European tourists who were starting to flood into Scotland even in the off season for the peace and quiet and slow pace of life.

As they travelled north and west the landscape began to change. The houses became less dense. The trees grew bigger. Flat farmland became gentle hills and rolling glens. Farmland mixed with forest and then muir. The trees disappeared, the small hills became mountains. They wound their way through Scotland, small towns built of local stone, with cafes and tourist hotels and little boutiques and car parks for the walkers. Tourist attractions, old mills and spectacular waterfalls and rocky cliffs and crags. Every nook and cranny was soon filled with ferns and moss and then the patchwork muirland. Jamie pointed out where other estates were taking advantage of the few days of fine weather that had appeared over the previous week to burn down the older mature heather.

The stopped in layby at one point and watched as a group of men in orange overalls doused a patch of heather in petrol and then set it alight with a flamethrower.

Claire pressed her lips together and said nothing. When they were back in the car Jamie’s hand went to her leg to draw her attention his way as he drove.

“What is it?” Jamie asked.

Claire shook her head and tried to force a smile, “Nothing.” She saw disappointment fill Jamie and she recalled what they had agreed about honesty. “I’m just not convinced that it’s the best thing for the moor, that’s all.”

“It’s true a lot of people don’t understand it,” Jamie agreed, “But burning the heather prompts new growth, you see? And then the grouse have plenty to eat.”

Claire cleared her throat and stared ahead.

Jamie chuckled, “Alright, Sassenach, you’re the plant expert. My ego can take it. I take it you’ve been looking up your wee herb books again?”

“As a matter of fact I have and the problem is that fire isn’t really part of the natural ecology of Scotland, as a general rule. I mean, sure, in the odd dryspell you can get some grass fires but a lot of this land is naturally wet. Scotland’s a wet country, after all. Green wood here can be up to eighty percent water. You talked about all the artificial drainage that has been put in at Lallybroch, so you know a lot of these muirs would be naturally much wetter if the trees were allowed to grow back and the drainage taken out. I mean, there are plants all over the world that have evolved to coexist with fire. Some plants even depend on fire. Heather isn’t one of them and it says something that often the only way you can get it to light is with accelerants. Fire here kills flora and fauna, it doesn’t help them. It kills the insects and reptiles, and it damages the soil and acidifies the water. Not to mention the impact on climate change – I mean it’s terrible for carbon emissions and any carbon neutral business would need to explain how they’re going to offset the carbon release.” Claire paused and looked at Jamie. “They set it alight because the new growth they think it prompts...it’s about promoting young growth which is about benefitting grouse. And exterminating competitor plant species, like birch. Unfortunately a lot of people have bought into the industry rhetoric without looking at the ecology of heather in other places. The University of Leeds studied muirburn and it doesn’t make fir good reading. On non-grouse muirs on the islands, heather grows perfectly well without being set alight but it tends to grow in a much more varied ecological landscape with greater variety of flora and fauna species that benefit from richer biodiversity. It survives perfectly well – and even better – without being burned everywhere there isn’t grouse muir and we both know it. Muirburn specifically benefits grouse muirs by enabling them to produce enough food for a useable surplus of grouse that can be harvested. But it is bad in almost every other respect and I know it’s your job, but that doesn’t mean that I agree with it.”

Jamie was quiet for a moment and then his hand went back to Claire’s leg and he squeezed it for a long moment. “I know.”

“And I’m sure many people believe what they’re told. It’s easy to believe when you’ve never seen or known any alternative but whether you believe it’s good or not, by and large heather isn’t really burnt anywhere there isn’t grouse muir. When you look at a practice like muirburn, you need to look beyond the regulations and ask yourself where it’s done and why it happens. And don’t get me started on the effects on blanket bog,” Claire shook her head.

“You’ve got a real soft spot for a bog, haven’t you?” Jamie teased.

Claire didn’t dignify that with a response. They passed more muirburn, the patchwork of the artificially burnt heather blackening the hillside. Jamie could point out and explain the more mature heather the grouse liked to hide in and the bare patches of burnt hillside that had been burnt in the last few years. Jamie explained how heather on most grouse muirs was burnt on rotation so that over ten or twenty years the entire estate would be covered, producing a patchwork of heather in various degrees of maturity...and not much else. In some of the more exposed areas, the wind blew so strongly for much of the year that any new heather growth had been seriously inhibited anyway. In other places there were green hillsides with no heather or shrubs only a thin layer of rough grasses, entire hillsides where the grazing habits of sheep and deer left no chance of any vegetation to grow and every so often a deer fence behind which a remarkable island of birch, mature heather and shrubs had sprung up giving a tiny insight into what the landscape might have looked like two hundred years before.

 

Their journey was dotted with place names. Callander. Lochearnhead. Crianlarich. The heart stopping beauty of Rannch Moor where they stopped for a breather, to share a hug and take in the view. Jamie broke out the sandwiches they had bought at the service station and they ate half a sandwich each and then, as they watched, the sky began to fill with birds. There was almost no wind, just a faint breath of air coming down from the north and with it, a huge flock of geese several thousand strong drifted in like smoke. Their noises filled the sky, as the massive skein descended from height and then began to tumble sideways. Thousands and thousands of birds falling out of the sky down onto the waters of the lochs spread out before them.

There wasn’t a soul around, just the chill damp October morning, the mountain and lochs of the highlands and ten thousand geese falling out of the sky.

“Pinkies, I think,” Jamie whispered, with reverence.

“Hmm?”

“Pink-feeted geese. Or pink-footed. No one seems quite able to agree on that. They come down here for the winter from Greenland and Iceland.”

Claire felt like she was in a David Attenborough documentary. Jamie seemed to take the whole thing in his stride. They watched on for as long as they could, as the geese came in to settle on the loch and filled the empty muir with life.

Jamie took in a breath. “Want to see the memorial while we’re here?”

They climbed back into the car and continued on their way, Jamie naming the mountains as they went. The picture-postcard Great Shepherd of Etive - Buchaille Etive Mor. Bidean nam Bian. The path to the Hidden Glen. He shared stories of cattle thieving and clan feuds and they stopped again at a little granite stone with a few words on it in memory of the massacre of Clan MacDonald in 1692.

“They were required by law to provide billets for the government soldiers, not to mention honouring the tradition of hospitality in these parts. They did what was asked of them, and they paid with their lives. After three weeks the government soldiers got up before dawn and slaughtered them all in the middle of winter. Those who survived fled into the hills, only to die of exposure. It was a dark, dark moment in Scottish history, I’ll tell you that,” Jamie shook his head. “To this day, the betrayal’s not forgotten.”

Claire slid her hand into his and couldn’t escape the sensation of presence while standing here. There were ghosts in these hills. No, not ghosts, that was too simple a notion. There was a great darkness, an emptiness, an energy that filled you of a community that was no more. The echo was profound. The silence was more silent. The emptiness was more empty. There was a haunting here, of what was and what should be, but wasn’t. It was a deeply disturbing sensation and Claire felt lightheaded for a moment and put out her hand to steady herself on a rock. All at once a great piercing, painful sadness filled her and grief ate up her heart. She was overcome by the powerful sensation and jerked her hand back as if burned.

“Sorcha?” Jamie stepped into her, his face full of concern.

“I feel...I don’t know...there’s something about this place that isn’t right. There’s a great sadness. A great presence. This place is hallowed ground...” Claire looked around, muttering to herself. “Sacred.”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed. He put his hand on her waist and stared into her eyes, seeing to steady her with his presence. “It is. Sassenach, ye dinnae look right.”

When a dizzy spell appeared to overcome Claire, Jamie held her up and urged her to sit down and waited until she was herself again. A few moments later Claire was back to herself and when she explained what she had felt, Jamie listened, thoughtfully.

“You have the sight a bit, I think,” Jamie shrugged. “It’s not unheard of in these parts. Here, drink this.” A hand went into the inside chest pocket of his jacket and produced a hip flask of whisky which Claire grabbed at eagerly and tossed back, pouting when Jamie prised it out of her hands with a chuckle at her enthusiasm.

“Easy, lass. It’ll be a long day yet.”

“Spoilsport.”

Jamie’s eyebrows shot up. 

 

In spite of her bold actions, Claire gave into Jamie’s nursing and as they drove away her eyes lingered on the stone.

“Its cause the spirits are in the stone,” Jamie explained. “That’s why we put them there.” When he looked at Claire, Claire had to admit she had no idea what he was talking about. “Gravestones, memorials and such like. Our celtic ancetors believed that wood was of the living and stone was of the dead. The stone is resting place for the souls of the departed, so they’re not left wandering this realm unable to cross over to the spirit world. That’s why we put up gravestones and talk to them and such.” Jamie shrugged, as if that was all quite simple and matter of fact. “Or something like that.”

It had frankly never occurred to Claire to wonder why people talked to gravestones, but after the unsettling experience at Glencoe she couldn’t help but wonder if there was something in Jamie’s reasoning. Back in the car, they continued on towards Ballachuillish Bridge and following the road as it found the headland and swung north along Loch Linnhe.

“Are ye ok, Sassenach? Ye’re still a wee bit peelie-wallie.”

“What?”

“Pale,” Jamie clarified.

Claire this time was the one to settle her hand on Jamie’s knee as he drove. The connection grounded her. Jamie, she knew, would see her safe. “I will be, I think.”

The remarkable thing about Jamie in moments like this, Claire thought, was that for all his worldly education and experience he talked about folk beliefs as if they were not beliefs or lore but actual facts. Culture handed down by aural traditions for generations and taken as read. He could point out a corner of a sea loch where an each-uisge lived, or tell her a changeling tale as if it had happened to him personally or rattle off the odd experiences of people walking around fairy hills and took it all as read. It wasn’t a belief for him, it wasn’t a story. It just was. Right now as Claire was recovering from whatever the hell it was that had just happened, Jamie looked a little, well, miffed.

She sighed heavily. “What?”

“Well I don’t mean to tell ye what tae dae, Sassenach, but there’s a reason I telt ye no tae go wanderin’ round that faerie hill at night, and suchlike.”

Claire glared at him.

“Well fine,” Jamie shrugged, “But if you end up being stolen by the faeries, or something, dinnae come crying tae me.” He tailed off, muttering under his breath about Sassenachs with sight going around grabbing random stones like it was some kind of touchy-feelie theme park.

Claire was frankly astonished by his attitude. Faerie hills? Spirits? Stones that possessed the dead? “I agree. Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government.”

“What.”

“Nothing,” Claire muttered.

“No seriously. What?”

“Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries?”

Jamie side-eyed her with concern. “Are ye _sure_ ye’re feeling alright?”

 

* * *

 

Music rec: I’ll Never Forget from the album In Praise of Home by RURA.

 

Effects of Moorland Burning on the Ecohydrology of River basins (EMBER) study by University of Leeds: https://www.leeds.ac.uk/news/article/3597/grouse_moor_burning_causes_widespread_environmental_changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S23C Hill Farming Act 2011 quoted from legislation.gov.uk (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/Geo6/9-10/73/section/23C). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/)
> 
> Please note that at the end of this chapter Claire quotes lines from the film Monty Python and the Holy Grail - written by Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones and Michael Palin.


	23. Chapter 23

 

_**"Criminal Law (Consolidation) (Scotland) Act 1995** _

_**Part II** _

_**SPORTING EVENTS: CONTROL OF ALCOHOL ETC.** _

_**18 Designation of sports grounds and sporting events.** _

_(1) Subject to subsection (2) below, the Secretary of State may for the purposes of this Part of this Act by order designate—_

_(a) a sports ground or a class of sports ground;_

_(b) a sporting event, or a class of sporting event, at that ground or at any of that class of ground;_

_(c) a sporting event, or a class of sporting event, taking place outside Great Britain._

_(2) An order under this section shall not apply to a sporting event at which all the participants take part without financial or material reward and to which all spectators are admitted free of charge; but this subsection is without prejudice to the order’s validity as respects any other sporting event._

_(3) The power to make an order under subsection (1) above shall be exercisable by statutory instrument which shall be subject to annulment in pursuance of a resolution of either House of Parliament."_

 

 

 

**Chapter 23**

 

When they finally arrived at Fort William, through a series of toweringly spectacular mountain glens, the first thing that struck Claire was the sheer number of Bed and Breakfasts. Entire streets lined them and then – what now seemed like an oddity after all the scenery – supermarkets and roundabouts, industrial estates and a bustling town centre. There were road signs to Mallaig and Inverness, transport routes that were the lifeblood of the communities here. A number of drivers in other cars waved to Jamie as they passed and soon they were in a long queue of traffic as people from all around headed into town for the match.

 

Claire let Jamie take the lead, he clearly knew his way around and they parked the car near the ground in the designated parking. Ian’s plan, Jamie said, was to give the kids a treat by taking them to McDonalds for lunch and they could either spend some time by themselves or head to McDonalds to meet up. Claire was still a little shaken from her experiences earlier and so they agreed to take a short walk along the waterfront of Loch Lochy before heading towards McDonalds. A text from Ian told them that the Murray contingent were running on Gaelic time and could be a while.

 

“Gaelic time?” Claire mused.

 

“He means he’s running late,” Jamie grinned. “In joke, if ye will.”

 

“Right.” They walked along the waterfront and took in the scenery and the wildlife. A seal popped its head out of the water not far from the shore and Claire noted the way it quietly floated in the water, as if taking the world in, watching the humans in the town. The mountains of Lochaber provided a sense of grandeur to the proceedings, Ben Nevis standing stalwart over the town on an autumn day that was cold, crisp and dry with only a light breath of air.

 

Claire enjoyed the time out of the car, a few minutes to themselves before the hubbub of family and the drowning presence of great crowds of people and excitement. Beside her Jamie was silent, but gave off the aura of someone doing a great deal of thinking, very loudly. Claire herself was struggling to make sense of what had happened and could only think of the things that Jamie had said before getting into the car for the last section of the drive. He was very sweet, if a little intense at times. Claire could tell just by being in his presence that Jamie’s entire being was focused on her when she was around. His eyes rarely left her, or if they did it was like his whole spirit was focused on her even when his eyes were not. His body protected hers – walking on the car side of the road, or offering a supportive arm around her waist not because, Claire was sure, Jamie thought she was weak. No, Jamie was a protector by nature, he knew no other way of being. It was at times like this she saw the soldier in him. His very presence seemed on edge, poised to respond at a moment’s notice to any eventuality that might befall them.

 

Sometimes he seemed to want to say something, or make physical contact and then thought the better of it. Claire knew that she was holding back a bit but she looked at him like this and she couldn’t help but feel a little stirring of the heart. He looked magnificent in his kilt, his auburn hair and the smattering of freckles blending into the brown and ochres of the autumn hills. Jamie was lovely, he was heartfelt and he was sincere. He was also clearly in a lot deeper than she was although there was no denying the attraction. Physically, yes, but emotionally as well. Jamie was tall and handsome and kind. He was thoughtful and considerate. More than that, he listened to her and asked her questions. He was interested her mind and every time their eyes met, Claire could feel that intellectual connection. Even when it came to intimacy between them, the lack of experience that might have made other men feel emasculated was something that Jamie responded to with an enthusiasm for learning that made Claire laugh out loud.

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

“Nothing,” Claire smiled at him.

 

Jamie nudged her with his shoulder, a matching smile coming to his eyes. “Liar.”

 

Of course, Claire mused, Jamie knew exactly what she was thinking and she slid her hand into his which Jamie used to pull her towards him for a kiss. They melted into each other, lips and hands and warm hearts humming until a passing pensioner tutted at them in passing and they fell apart giggling.

 

“It’s good tae see ye smiling, Sassenach.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I be smiling?”

 

“You were looking a bit shaken back there.”

 

Claire knew what Jamie meant, but felt that by acknowledging it she was at risk of a wobbly moment getting the better of her and so she painted a smile on it and pushed the feeling down. “I’m fine. Honest.”

 

Jamie looked into her eyes for a long moment and then caressed her cheek and nodded. “Alright, Sorcha.”

 

“You keep calling me that. What does it mean?"

 

“Sorcha? It means _light_ or _brightness_. It’s your name in gaidhlig.”

 

Claire thought about this for a moment, and wondered at all the gaelic knowledge Jamie seemed to carry that went unremarked on and largely unsaid. He had said something at Glencoe, back at the stone. “You said I had The Sight. What is that?”

  
Jamie cleared his throat and shrugged, as if embarrassed. “Well I don’t know, really. Just a thought, I suppose. _A_ _n da shealladh_ as we call it. Those with the Second Sight have the regular sight and the sight of The Seer. The Sight is a curse, or a gift, depending on who you talk to. Sometimes it’s seeing the spirits of the dead. Sometimes it’s foretelling death. Sometimes it’s events that haven’t happened yet. Seems to be different for different people. But I’ve only heard stories, I don’t carry much knowledge about it.”

 

Jamie tailed off with a shrug and Claire let the matter drop, but in the back of her mind she vowed to do more reading on the subject. Maybe Jenny would know who to talk to? Or Murtagh?

 

The fresh air and the exercise improved Claire’s mood and after a while they turned back and headed to McDonalds for a takeaway before heading to An Aird for the match and in that spooky way that often happened, no sooner had Murtagh come to mind than the man himself appeared, standing outside McDonalds as if keeping watch.

 

“Jamie, lad,” Murtagh gave Jamie a curt nod in greeting. “Claire.”

 

Jamie grinned and pulled Murtagh in for a hug. “Kids getting too much for you, old man?” Jamie teased and Murtagh grunted and mumbled under his breath in return. Claire didn’t catch it, but it seemed to make Jamie laugh. Indeed, Claire noted, Murtagh did look rather like he was gritting his teeth at the prospect of an entire afternoon with Ian and Jenny’s children.

 

Inside Ian was the picture of a harassed parent with too many children eating too much sugar. Relief crossed his face at the sight of Jamie and he greeted Claire with courtesy before excusing himself to the toilet. Claire ordered food while Jamie entertained his nieces and nephews. Predictably the place was busy and, as Claire was learning fast, lots of people knew each other. She found herself introduced several times to old colleagues, neighbours, friends and shinty foes and their friends and families and children. Food was eaten and tickets, bags and necessities double checked. The adults made sure the kids cleaned up after themselves and before long they were on the move again, walking to the playing field. Many others were doing the same. One person after another gave them a nod or a wave or a hello. Families and couples, people of all ages speaking Gaelic and English both. When Jamie explained for the hundredth time that yet another stranger from yet another village she couldn’t place on a map had played against him in the Broch Mordha under-12’s shinty team years before – or the under-15’s or the under-17’s – Claire decided to stop trying to keep a track and just enjoy the atmosphere.

 

Heaven forfend they ever got married, Claire mused to herself. They’d be inviting half the Highlands at this rate.

 

The stadium, it transpired, had been renovated in recent years and Ian opined on the quality of the work and the improvements made while Murtagh remained silent and glared at anyone who came within a dozen feet of their party. Any hope of further conversation with Jamie, however, was mostly shot in the foot by the constant noise and excitement of the youngsters surrounding him. Still, they made Claire smile. They were good kids, smart and sensible who did what they were told, even if they were, understandably, in high spirits. In the end it was young Jamie who co-opted Claire while Ian the toddler decided to throw a tantrum every time anyone dared prize him out of his Uncle Jamie’s arms. Even Murtagh was roped in by Maggie, who insisted she was going to sit beside him as they found their seats in the stands.

Around them, many people were wearing blue coats, hats and scarves to indicate their support for Scotland. On the sidelines a reporter with an Irish accent spoke a piece into camera in what Claire realised must be gaeilge.

 

It was clear from the tense and competitive atmosphere inside the stadium that the fixture was quite important to both sides, although Claire still wasn't sure that she had understood the ins and outs of it all. When they finally got their seats in the modest sized stadium, Claire took the opportunity to pick the brains of those who knew best and between them, Maggie and wee Jamie seemed quite chuffed at the important job of guiding Auntie Claire through the details of the unique hybrid fixture of shinty-hurling.

 

“You see, Auntie Claire, we play shinty in Scotland and they play hurling in Ireland but we haven’t got anyone else to play, so we play each other!” Maggie exclaimed.

 

Wee Jamie nodded and joined in, “And they mix the rules so its fair for both teams.”

 

“So let me get this right. They’re actually playing different sports?” Claire looked across the kids at Jamie, who was bouncing a grizzling toddler.

 

“They are, but Shinty and Hurling both developed out of the same Gaelic roots, and the exact rules and caman shapes and team sizes were always flexible until rules were formalised in the nineteenth century.”

 

Claire had watched the kids play shinty, and was aware of hurling, but the idea of playing two sports against each other at the same time seemed bonkers to her. “How different are the sports?”

 

“They’re not as different as all that,” Jamie shrugged. “They’re both played with a stick and a ball, you can play the ball in the air or on the ground in different ways, but the two games have developed differently on the two sides of the Irish sea. It works in its own way. In this game they’ll use the Irish hurling goals and composite rules for playing the ball. Shinty games are played with forty five minutes per half, hurling is played with thirty so they play forty each end today. The team sizes are fifteen players for mens hurling and twelve players for mens shinty so this is fourteen aside. You get the idea.”

 

“The balls are slightly different too,” Big Ian added, “So in past years they’ve used a shinty ball for one half and a slioter for the other. Hurling’s a bit of a faster paced game. You’ll notice the Irish are always quick out of the gates but the longer half benefits the stamina of the Scots.”

 

“And,” Maggie nearly jumped out of her seat in excitement, “They let you play the ball over the bar!”

 

Ian shook his head at the excitable antics of his older children, which wasn’t helping put the younger ones at ease. “I’m sure Auntie Claire will get the hang if when she starts watching it. Now sit still.”

 

With fifteen minutes before the throw up, the local pipe band in all their finery walked on and played to entertain the crowd. The teams came out followed by the officials who all shook hands and then they lined up for the anthems to be played. The pride of the players was clear, though they looked nervous and cold and eager to get going. Claire noted that there was a sizeable Irish contingent in the crowd and a competitive but friendly atmosphere. As the anthems finished the field of play was cleared and the players took their their positions for the start of the match.

 

In the very centre the referee stood, a player from each team at either side. A caman and a hurley were raised upright in the air. The sliotar was thrown towards the sky.

 

The game began.

 

At first, Claire had some trouble spotting where the ball was, or what the players were allowed to do with it. It was dribbled, hit, intercepted from the air. Claire hoped they had a doctor on the sidelines somewhere because the sticks looked lethal and the players were getting pretty into it. Claire had decided early on that she would obviously have to support Scotland. When an Irish player shoulder barged a Scottish player with the sliotar she exclaimed at the injustice only to be corrected by wee Jamie that, “Ye’re allowed tae dae that, Auntie Claire.”

 

There was tussling, intercepting, tugging of shirts. Hacking got a foul but foul language mostly fell on the deaf ears of the long-suffering referee as high spirits got the better of the players. Camans and hurleys clashed. Players fell over and knocked each other about. Ireland got an early goal and two hits over the crossbar but just before half time Scotland got in a goal themselves and they were by no means out of the running when they went into the break.

 

As the only female adult of the party, Claire found herself taking the girls to the ladies toilet at half time. With the mens queue moving more quickly, Jamie was done in a few minutes and came to wait beside Claire and girls while big Ian looked after the boys and Murtagh watched over their stuff at the seats. Having the kids around made Claire feel unusually self-conscious around Jamie in a way she wasn’t used to. The children seemed to find everything about their Uncle’s new relationship terribly funny, falling into giggles and making kissing noises when they thought the adults weren’t looking until Jamie told them off. Finally when the girls got to the front of the queue and went to do their business Claire got a moment to speak to Jamie almost-alone.

 

“Auntie Claire?” Claire whispered, glancing at her boyfriend out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Looks like ye’ve been adopted, Sassenach,” Jamie shrugged. “Must be Ian’s doing. Or the kids.”

 

Claire looked at him for a long moment, sceptical.

 

Jamie swallowed and said nothing, staring off into the distance. Finally he cleared his throat. “Do ye mind?”

 

He wouldn’t look at her, he was avoiding her eyes, but Claire got the distinct feeling that she was going to hurt him if she admitted that being so entwined so quickly, after being burned by her divorce, was a bit more than she could deal with. Then she took a deep breath and a mental step back. It was just kids being kids. Everyone was happy, and having a good time. And she didn’t know where this was going, but she definitely didn’t get the feeling they were about to break up any time soon. Whatever the ins and outs of it, it didn’t need resolved or dealt with right now. “It just surprised me, that’s all.”

 

“Mum’s always saying Uncle Jamie needs a girlfriend,” Maggie informed Claire as she came back out.

 

“Maggie Fraser Murray did ye wash yer hands?”

 

“Yes, Uncle Jamie.”

 

“And Mum thinks ye’re good for him,” Maggie continued to tell Claire.

 

If Jamie wasn’t blushing before, he certainly was now and he hushed his niece at some of the laughter the comment got from a few nearby adults in the toilet queues. It didn’t help that Jamie knew at least half of them personally and so after a few jokes at Jamie and Claire's expense it was a relief to get the kids back in their seats for the second half and watch Scotland get a second point. Jamie’s mind was soon back on the match and Claire enjoyed watching him watch the game. She could see why Jenny had asked him to help with the kids. They were nearly as enthusiastic as their uncle, while Murtagh contributed a plethora of insults to every foul, hack and call against the Scots. By the time they hit the sixty minute mark, the Irish were tiring and in spite of another couple of shinty balls over the crossbar, the early lead they had built up began to be chipped away by the Scots who were doubling down as the pitch got muddy and the players legs wore out. In the end a single last minute shot over the crossbar clinched the match for the home team, to a roar of great joy from the stands and Claire watched as Jamie, Murtagh and Ian turned into little kids, jumping and shouting and cheering as if they had won the world cup.

 

On the pitch the opposing players shook hands and team Scotland piled in together for a group celebration. In the stands, Jamie squeezed past the kids to share a hug with Claire, wee Ian squashed between them but apparently quite content. The Scotland team were exultant, the Irish disappointed and looking somewhat dazed at the way the match had gotten away from them. They stood consoling each other, helmets and hurleys in hand.

 

The players had time to get rehydrated and do some interviews with the reporters covering the match. Then the medals were handed out and the cup was awarded and bit by bit the atmosphere began to calm down. Slowly the stadium crowd turned to the exits and began the long walk back to their cars on a wave of happiness, stopping frequently for more conversation and warm words with old friends. The kids recounted the best points to the adults, even though everyone present had been sitting through the entire match.

 

At Ian’s car Jamie at last prized wee Ian off and winced at the wail of discontent the toddler made known at being relegated to his car seat. Big Ian insisted the kids would settle down soon enough once they got on the road and so Claire stood back and watched as Jamie helped get the kids strapped in and promised he would come and see their guising costumes for Halloween.

 

Standing outside Ian’s car, with the kids all safely belted in, Ian took a moment to shake his brother-in-law’s hand in thanks.

 

“Always, brother,” Jamie grasped Ian’s hand for a long moment, clinging onto it. “ _Beannachd leibh_.”

 

“ _Mar sin leibh_.”

 

“I’ll see you soon, Claire,” Ian came to say goodbye and they shared a handshake and a polite kiss on the cheek. Murtagh got a nod and a wave and then they were off.

 

* * *

Music rec: The Caman Man by Garry Innes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qyt74s-9J6o

 

I am very much a beginner at Gaelic since it hasn't been used in my family for a couple of generations so I apologise for any mistakes or errors. I do proof read but I don't use betas so I am happy for typos, grammar and other mistakes I may have overlooked to be politely pointed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s18 Criminal Law (Consolidation) (Scotland) Act 1995 quoted from legislation.gov.uk (http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1995/39/part/II). Contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0 (http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/doc/open-government-licence/version/3/


	24. Chapter 24

“ _Justice!_

  
_In 1948 near this cairn the Seven Men of Knoydart staked claims to secure a place to live and work._

 _For over a century Highlanders had been forced to use land raids to gain a foothold where their forebears lived. Their struggle should inspire each new generation of Scots to gain such rights by just laws.  
History will judge harshly the oppressive laws that have led to the virtual extinction of a unique culture from this beautiful place._ ”

 

\- Memorial Cairn to the Seven Men of Knoydart (see end)

 

Chapter 24

 

They waved as Ian and the kids pulled out of the car park. Murtagh, it seemed, had driven separately for peace of mind as much as a shortage of car seats, but as soon as Ian was out of the way he cast a dark look at Claire and asked to speak to Jamie on his own.

“Murtagh ye ken fine ye can speak to me in front o’ Claire.”

Murtagh pressed his lips together and fell into Gaelic, receiving chastisement from Jamie for his rudeness. To save an argument, Claire excused herself and insisted she would wait in the car. Jamie objected, but Claire grasped his hand to get his attention and as soon as his eyes met hers he gave into her wishes and slid the key into her hand.

When Jamie came back he looked worn out and spent a moment staring into space. “Buyout stuff,” He said finally, reaching out a hand to caress Claire’s face.

Claire’s hand went to his and kissed it softly.

“It’s...” Jamie started, clearly thinking of trying to explain. “...complicated.”

“Tell me later?” Claire urged and Jamie nodded, giving in. “Not that this hasn’t been nice but do you want to get out of here?”

“Ye’re not rushing back to Edinburgh tonight?”

“Should I?” Claire challenged. Jamie frowned and then looked at her and Claire’s heart clenched. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” Her instinct was formed from experiences Jamie could know nothing of, but Jamie was not at fault and as an apology filled her mind Jamie responded in kind. Leaning in, Claire caught is head to bring him in for a kiss, her fingers trailing through the short curls on top that he was growing out, because she liked them. At length Jamie pulled away and looked down at their joined hands.

“I don’t know how to be anything other than what I am, Sassenach...”

“I know that, Jamie. And I love you for it.” Claire watched as Jamie stilled for several long, drawn out seconds until at length he glanced one last time at the stadium, emotion burning bright in his eyes.

 

Claire sensed that Jamie needed some time with his thoughts and to be perfectly honest, Claire knew she had a lot to think about too. Since this relationship had begun, and even before it, Jamie had been incredibly open and honest about his life and his work and his family. Claire had to ask herself, after today, if she could say that she had reciprocated with that. On the one hand, part of her felt that there was simply less to share but another part of Claire knew that her past experience was leading to her holding back with Jamie in a way he probably didn’t deserve.

Jamie drove them out of Fort William before stopping the car a few miles up the road in a small village with a modest sized car park where signs directed them towards, ‘Neptune’s Staircase’.

“Can you stand to take another walk with me, Sassenach?”

“Is this you showing me the sights?”

Jamie shrugged and then sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I need to talk to you. And I find it easier talking in the fresh air.”

Claire watched him for a long moment, wondering what was going on and then nodded, “Alright.”

They took the short walk from the car park through to the Caledonian Canal and the spectacular series of canal locks linking Loch Linnhe and the next section of canal up the Great Glen towards Loch Lochy.

After walking a little way, Jamie took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry about what happened wi’ Murtagh. He’s just worried about me.”

“Because of me,” Claire assumed.

Jamie’s lips twitched in a wry echo of a smile but his hand reached out between them and found Claire’s at his side. “Your affiliation with Charles Stuart makes things complicated.”

“What affiliation? It was one business contract which I fulfilled, that’s all.”

“Aye, and I get that. The thing is, in the Gaeltacht business is personal. In that gaelic tradition, people deal with people, they do business with folks they know. English folks and lowlanders might say, ‘It’s not personal, its just business,’ but up here, business is personal. Most folks at Lallybroch, they might know who you are – not least because of me – but they don’t know you. Not like they know me or Jenny or Ian.”

Claire still couldn’t entirely grasp the cultural differences he was describing, but it wasn’t lost on her that she was an outsider in a close knit community and her previous work for the man who was trying to buy Lallybroch wouldn’t be looked on in the best of lights.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jamie continued, “They’ll accept you because of me but there’s a lot riding on this buyout and, well, tensions are high.”

The buyout, Claire thought, was possibly the best thing to happen to Lallybroch the way Jamie and Jenny told it. But Claire was aware that with her life and livelihood in Edinburgh no matter how at home she felt in Jamie’s world she still had one foot inside it and one foot in the outside world. It was natural that there would be bumps along the road.

“Does he have any particular concerns?”

“Aye. Our jobs.”

“Your jobs? But you’re a Ghillie on the estate, so if the buyout is successful you’ll surely have more of a say as to how things are done. All your ideas about recrofting and wildlife tourism and putting the common grazings back...”

Jamie paused, listening carefully and was quiet for a while. “Aye, there’s that. And if we’re unsuccessful? Who is going to want a bunch of Ghillies on their estate who tried to buy them out? Who opposed the very idea of another foreign owner?”

Further up the staircase the water level was changing. A canal boat and a yacht slowly rising until the water level in their lock was high enough to move on into the next section.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about this, Jamie. Houses and livelihoods and living together? I’m enjoying what we have, isn’t that enough?”

“Aye,” Jamie nodded and swallowed hard. “Aye it is. And I live in hope that if I suddenly find myself homeless you’d be willing to put me up on your sofa for a few days until I get myself sorted.”

Claire’s mind whirled. What was this? “Homeless? Why would you be homeless because of the buyout?”

“Because all of our homes belong to the estate, Sassenach. The crofting tenants on the estate have security of tenure, their leases are protected in law. But Ian and Murtagh and I are housed as estate workers. If we lose our jobs we lose our homes.”

“It can’t be that dire. What about buying somewhere? Or renting?” Claire’s heart began to sink. It hadn’t even occurred to her that there was a housing problem. Sure, Claire was aware of grumblings about housing shortages on the estate but there had been no reason to think it was dire.

“Buying’s not so easy these days. As you’ll have seen from our walks around Lallybroch, there’s a bit of a monopoly when it comes to properties in the lands around Lallybroch. Local owner occupiers tend to be long-term resident. And when homes do come onto the market there’s a lot more interest than there used to be from outside the community. Homes that a few decades ago were being abandoned or sold only to other locals, well now there’s wealthy retirees from London and southern England looking for a scenic retirement, or a holiday home. And it’s not just the rest of the UK. The USA, Europe, South East Asia, everyone wants a piece of Scotland. In the Cairngorms national park, Sassenach, one in five homes are now holiday homes. In some parts of the highlands they say its as high as fifty percent. The truth is, like I said, the Estate still has a monopoly on most of the land so historically, trying to persuade an absentee landlord on a sporting estate like Lallybroch to sell land for a new build has been nigh on impossible. If there’s no money for the estate in it, or no profit for them, they’re not interested. Then of course, even if it would make them money some of them have been such control freaks they wouldn’t cede so much as a blade of grass even if you paid them twice the market price. Old homes sit derelict, new homes don’t get built. And when something does come onto the market, locals cannae afford it and if you think that buying is tough, renting’s just as bad. Holiday lets can charge per week what a local would expect to pay in a month, just about.”

Claire’s heart sank. Of course, it seemed to be a problem everywhere these days. Edinburgh was no exception. Hotels eating up one city centre building after another, holiday lets and student accomodation everywhere you turned and bit by bit run down areas were being gentrified and locals squeezed out. Yet it hadn’t occurred to her that the problem would be so acute in an apparently beautiful idyll like Lallybroch.

“Recrofting some of the land, renovating the derelict estate houses, providing homes for locals...it would be a fine thing if we were able to do that as a community.”

“Murtagh worries that my connections make the buyout less likely, doesn’t he?”

Jamie nodded.

“And if the buyout doesn’t work, you’ll be without a home as well as a job. And most of your friends and family too.”

A sigh, and a deep breath. “Aye, well, if the buyout doesn’t work the estate’s properly fucked anyway. In twenty years there won’t be a community there anymore. The school will have closed, the economy finally shrivelled up. Climate change and intensive management will have ruined the grouse – already this season the harvest has fallen dreadfully short. One of the reasons I’ve been able to meet you so often is the number of shoots that were cancelled because of small bags. No, I’ve been around this estate all my life. Things are changing too fast. You either change with the times or...” Jamie tailed off into a shrug. “And for all the beauty of the hills and the fairy cattle, the highlands is nothing without its people. Not to me, anyway. There’s already enough empty glens. I’d give my heart and soul not to make Broch Mordha another.”

Claire stopped Jamie then and turned him physically towards her so she could look him in the eye. His eyes were deep and soulful, his heart shining in them. There was never any guile about Jamie. He was as honest as the water in the streams and the dipper in the river. The weather on the hillside and the deer that roamed their muirs and glens. Jamie didn’t know deceit, could hardly fathom it. What you saw was what you got. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him. One of the things that made her give him a chance, after all the false promises and treachery of her marriage-gone-wrong. Taking both of his hands in hers Claire looked him straight in the eye. “I am with you in this,” she promised him, “With everything that I have. If you’re asking me to be honest, it terrifies me. I still feel like we barely know each other and yet ever since we met, I can’t imagine not having you in my life. I don’t feel alive unless I’m with you, talking to you, thinking of you. What I was before, was existing. And believe me that was a step up from where I was when my marriage failed but...I didn’t know that places still existed where people mattered like this. Where community was everything. You live a life deeply rooted in community, land, culture. I see something at Lallybroch, a whisper of something that I didn’t know I was missing. I have spent my whole life adrift, Jamie. My parents died when I was young, I travelled the world with my Uncle, I married young and then watched my marriage fall apart wondering what was wrong with me that my husband had to go and seek out other womens’ beds behind my back. What you’re fighting for – you and Murtagh and Ian and Jenny and all of your local community, is something I never hoped or dreamed I would have a chance to see in my lifetime.”

Jamie squeezed Claire’s hands back and with tears in his eyes he gazed into her open eyes and read her fear and love and terror that this was serious for her. That it was everything, to both of them.

“And it if does all go tits up,” Claire continued, “You will always be welcome on my sofa. Although the herd of highland cattle we might need to talk about.”

With a snort, Jamie broke down into laughter, his shoulders quaking with the cathartic release of emotion. “Aye,” He sniffled through happy tears. “There is that.”

They melted into each other then, hands tangling in each others hair. The damp chill of autumn contrasting with the warmth of two bodies pressed together and cold noses bumping through smiles and kisses. They continued a little further along the well-made towpath, enjoying the quiet of the late afternoon and the colours of burnt umber and yellow ochre of the remaining leaves in the trees. Back towards the car, Jamie told Claire he had something he wanted to show her and they drove a little way along a scenic minor road that skirted the edge of the River Lochy and then swung east toward the A82 and the last stop of they day.

Parking on the roadside, Jamie sat for a long while with his hands on the steering wheel, looking out a statue of three men in historical combat gear, gazing out over the strath.

The Commando Memorial.

It was Claire who got out of the car first, Jamie who sat staring at the horizon with his hands on the wheel until he heard Claire opening his door and accepted her hand in his and wouldn’t let it go.

The walk was short, the view spectacular.

“Didnae seem right to pass this way and not,” Jamie swallowed, “Pay my respects. Do ye mind if I take a moment?”

The day had passed, the sun was setting. Three magnificent men in bronze staring south towards Ben Nevis, their outline standing out against the spectacular shades of peach, and gold and red of the late October sunset that painted the sky. A dusting of snow hugged the tops of some of the highest peaks and in a moment of exquisite poignancy, Jamie stepped forwards and joined his hands in quiet prayer. After a moment, Claire stepped forwards and took her place at his side, letting the soft words of his Gaelic prayer wash over her. When he was done, Jamie slowly raised his head towards the sky, clicked his heels together and raised his arm in a sharp military salute.

It was the last day of summer, the clocks would change tonight marking the onset of winter. Halloween was days away, and then Bonfire Night and Remembrance Sunday after that. The veil was weakening, the time of the dead was drawing near. The changing of the seasons. The winter gods of darkness winning the age-old fight and spreading their shadow across the land.

Having put his life on the line before, Claire knew that Jamie was aware of what he was getting into. But this time, going forwards, Jamie was putting his life on the line in a different way. His job, his community, his home, his future, his livelihood.

After a long moment of tense silence, Jamie let himself fall out and Claire slid her hand into his.

In silence they stood hand in hand until the sun sank below the horizon and darkness fell at Spean Bridge in the Great Glen of Scotland.

 

(End of Part 1)

* * *

Memorial cairn inscription source:

Scott, A. (2015) _Native Stranger: A Journey in Familiar and Foreign Scotland_ [page 343](https://books.google.com/books?id=5zyNBQAAQBAJ&lpg=PT343&dq=%22seven%20men%20of%20knoydart%22&pg=PT343#v=onepage&q=%22seven%20men%20of%20knoydart%22&f=false)

 

Music rec: Night In That Land composed by Johnny Cunningham, from the album _Affric_ by Duncan Chisholm. 

https://youtu.be/QrB4HgPekRY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the conclusion of the first part of this story. It is now on hiatus. I would ask that in order to allow me to best look after my mental health at the present time, that readers refrain from enquiring about updates and sequels. Thanks for reading - FaerieChild


End file.
